


The Four Innocents: Band Together

by Azalea542



Series: The Four Innocents [1]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960's, Alternate Universe - Earth, Celibacy, Gen, Male Friendship, friendship better than romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea542/pseuds/Azalea542
Summary: Quasi-fanfic directly based on my particular interpretation of The Monkees' TV characters (see my profile for my info on what I mean by quasi-fanfics & why it should be allowed here).  Once upon a time, there were four souls created for each other.  They were destined to share a mystical friendship that few understood.





	1. Fourward

The Strange Relationship of the Four Innocents

FOURWORD

Once upon a time, there were four souls, created for each other. They would be born apart, but fate pulled them in from the far corners of the earth until at last they met. For they were destined to share a mystical friendship that few understood.

For a brief time, I was privileged to witness that friendship, and to revel in their innocence. Others rejected them for being too close, and many more rejected them for their purity.

When I am cynical, I think the world hates innocence. Even movies geared towards families have a sexually suggestive scene or a dirty word or two. Teens are taunted by peers into joining in on sexual activity they are not ready for.

Then, when I see the way people coo over babies and toddlers, I think maybe I am wrong. Maybe the world dotes on innocence.

I think the truth is the world doesn’t know what to make of innocence. Sometimes, the world was one big, sunny playground for my friends, the Four Innocents, and they could do no wrong. But other times, the world slapped them in the face. And, in the end, it destroyed them. Oh, I know you can narrow it down to a few individuals who did all the destroying. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that it was the world, the world that did not know what to make of them, that did them in.

\--Amity Boone, neighbor

I didn’t even know what to make of them, to tell you the truth, and as Amity’s roommate, I knew them as well as she. Were they heterosexual? No. But were they gay? No. Celibates, they called themselves, but they doted on each other like lovers. I don’t know what to call it—a romantic friendship? One thing I do know, there has never been and never will be again friends as close as the Four Innocents.

\--Francene Plant, neighbor

Maybe God took them at an early age so their friendship would never crumble, or their innocence never fade. Or maybe if they were still alive today, they would still be pure and be together. Who can say?

\---Amity Boone


	2. Matt

SOLO LIVES

CHAPTER ONE: MATT WINWARD

See Matt—he is the bull. Not just any bull, but the big, dark kind you see facing a matador. The bull didn’t ask to be put in the fight. He would be content to live in peace. But the matador, the picadores, they come at him, pester him. Force him to face the momento de verdad—the Moment of Truth. And the noble bull falls, his blood spilling in the sand.

THE BIRTH

"That boy's bound to pull the unexpected on us," Mr. Winward remarked when he heard about his son's delivery. Nothing had been unusual about his conception. It had probably been the night of the Winwards' anniversary on July 2nd. Nothing had been unusual about his background, either--the Winwards themselves were nothing extraordinary, just good small town folk, running a service station on Route 66. Matthew Abraham Winward and his wife Carole Anne held the same faith and their goal in life was the same; they wanted to raise a family of God-fearing children. The young parents, barely out of their teens, had their first child in 1945, a daughter named Caroline, who had been born at home in a smooth delivery.  
Matt, however, decided to give his mother some trouble. For weeks, she had been aching to get out of the house, to just ride somewhere, preferably to a neighboring city. Her husband argued that she should stay at home, because the baby had grown quite large in her womb.  
On March 2nd, 1949, her neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Tanner, and Mrs. Smith dropped by the Winward residence. "We were just going up to Albuquerque for the afternoon," Mr. Tanner announced. "Mrs. Smith said you hadn't seen the light of day for awhile, so we'll be willing to take you along."  
"Oh, I'd love to go," Mrs. Winward returned. "But I've got to watch Caroline."  
"I'll watch Caroline," Mrs. Smith offered. "Poor dear, you've got to get out of here."  
"Well, what will Matthew think?" Mrs. Winward worried. Then she smiled mischievously. "Who cares? I'm barely a grown woman and already I’m going from blond to gray. I need a change of scenery or me and the baby will just wilt away staring at the walls."  
She got into the back seat of the Tanners' car, it rumbled to life, and they journeyed to the city.

"Oh, I should've listened to my husband!" Mrs. Winward sobbed, trying to keep from becoming hysterical. Not only had the car broken down on the way back, but shortly after Mr. Tanner had walked off to find assistance, labor pains had ensued.  
"Your husband should have let you out of the house sooner," Mrs. Tanner argued, standing outside the car. "Now Joe has gone off for some help, and he'll be back in, uh, well, before you know it. That fruit stand wasn't that far back."  
"By driving, it wasn't far back," Mrs. Winward pointed out. "By foot, who knows how long it will be?"  
"Just keep calm," her friend advised. "Sometimes a mother can have labor pains for hours before the child is actually born. He'll be back in time for you to have your baby."  
A few minutes later, an automobile pulled up. A stranger was at the wheel, but Mr. Tanner sat beside him. "Damon here owns the fruit stand back there," Mr. Tanner explained.  
"But who's watching the stand?" Mrs. Tanner fretted.  
"My daughter can take care of it," Damon said. Mrs. Winward cried out in pain. "What's wrong with her?"  
"She's having labor pains," Mrs. Tanner explained. "Quite frequently."  
"Quick then, get her in my car. I'll drive her to the hospital."

The baby, as it ended up being a male, was supposed to be given his father's name in full. His first name did remain Matthew, but in honor of the Good Samaritan, Matthew's mother gave her child the middle name Damon.  
"Don't you be going on no foolhardy escapades again," Mr. Winward chided, irritated at he and Caroline having to drive all the way to Albuquerque.  
"Getting out for the afternoon is not a foolhardy escapade," the mother retorted.

***

After that, babies seemed to come more easily to Mrs. Winward. A second son, Jacob, was born in 1950, then her womb took a break for a year, and Betsy was born in '52, and Wanda Sue in '53. After all that labor, Mrs. Winward was glad that no other infants seemed to be on their way.  
American Indians had intermarried with both Winwards and Dietbolds, a Navajo on the Dietbold side and an Apache on the Winwards'. This Native American heritage manifested itself in Matt's physical appearance, even more so than it had in his father or Caroline, both who had dark hair and showed a faint trace of Native American blood in their faces. Matt also had dark hair, thick and solid black, and his burning ebony eyes also hinted at a dash of Spanish ethnicity.

LITTLE BRAVE

To a boy with an active imagination such as Matt possessed, Trotter was a mixed blessing. Its appearance spoke of the Old West of myth, of heroic cowboys, of showdowns and shootouts. In reality, not much went on in town. No mysterious strangers rode in bringing trouble; no cattle herds passed through on their way to market. Staring out into the wide open spaces surrounding town, six-year old Matt pretended he was a brave making his way back to his tribe, after having escaped his white captors. The boy was only too aware of his Indian features, and romanticizing it, placed this percentage of his blood above his Anglo-Saxon, Germanic, and Hispanic parts.  
As Matt walked away from his house, Jacob called out after him, playing the part of a white soldier. "Hold on, Injun, you trying to escape?"  
"Sure I am," Matt replied, running. Jacob took off in pursuit, and tackled his brother. Pummeling him, he spouted forth a mostly unintelligible speech about how the whites would always win and the Indians would always lose.  
"You never let me win!" Matt protested, staggering to his feet. Tired of play, he went back inside, Jacob trailing behind. "Maw, it's not fair. Jacob wants the cowboys to win again, but we were here first."  
"Jacob, let Matt win every once in a while," Mrs. Winward mediated. "And Matt, don't forget you're actually white and European."  
"Well, maybe the rest of you are," Matt argued. "But I'm an Indian."

THE LAY OF THE LAND

Trotter was a small town, but not isolated from the world. The world passed through it, stopped at it on Route 66 for gas, food and Indian souvenirs like turquoise rings and pueblo pottery.  
The visitors marveled at wonders they had seen, like the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley. And, as they paused at his dad’s service station, they remarked how beautiful the land was and how lucky Matt was to live here. But it only made Matt long to see the world and the places the tourists had come from.  
There was beauty here, true. But Matt didn’t live in the middle of the red rock formations of Monument Valley. What Matt mostly saw was arid land, punctuated by scrub-like vegetation, looking like sporadic patches of hair on a man’s chest. With all a boy’s longing, and all a child’s discontent with wherever was home, he yearned to see what life was like beyond the Four Corners.

BEGINNING CHORDS

Uncle John and Aunt Mary Dietbold lived outside Trotter. Matt practically worshipped their sixteen-year-old son Nathaniel. He was a dark blond and brown-eyed young man, lean but strong. Whenever the Winwards visited, Nathaniel could always be seen strumming on his guitar. "Show me how to do that!" the seven-year-old Matt begged, and thus began the guitar lessons Matt received from his cousin. Nathaniel even bought him his own guitar for Christmas that year of 1958.  
Nathaniel was fond of country and western, but Matt liked the new rock'n'roll sounds. On an acoustic guitar, he would play the numbers he had learned for his family, but he rarely sang the lyrics. To him, they were mostly meaningless drivel about girls and kissing. No one ever complained about him performing rock'n'roll songs, for instrumentally, all the numbers sounded as harmless as kittens.

MIRABELLE AND MAYHEM

On one of the Winwards' longer stays with John and Mary, Nathaniel invited Matt to play as a guest with Nat's rockabilly band. Thirteen-year old Matt eagerly accepted the opportunity. He had often watched Nat and his band as they practiced their old tunes or came up with new songs and arrangements for them, and to him, Scout was greater than internationally famous rock and roll bands. Deep down, he actually liked the sound of other groups better, but he had a loyalty to his cousin's band.  
The big night was the ninth of March. Everything was exciting at first. They were playing at a family place, a barbecue restaurant in the city. Nathaniel personally introduced Matt to the audience. His bandmates were kind in helping the young guitarist to feel secure and to know what to do. Matt thought that this just might be the greatest night in his life.  
Then Nathaniel looked like he had suddenly taken a trip to another world.  
Matt followed his dazed cousin's gaze. He was staring at a girl who looked like a doll. She had brown-black hair in big curls, exaggerated eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and blue eyes that looked as if they would automatically close if she was tilted over. Worst of all, those eyes of hers were locked in direct line with Nathaniel's. Matt wanted to think of how exciting it was for him to be giving his first performance in public with his cousin, but Nathaniel was messing everything up. He was more aware of this girl than he was of the chords of the songs he was playing, and this hampered his usually excellent musicianship.  
Matt still managed to enjoy being in the concert, if only for trying to repress his concern and concentrate on how special this evening was. After the show, he bounded up to Nathaniel, asking, "How'd I do? How'd I do? Was I good? Do you think I'll be able to become a professional guitarist someday?"  
Nathaniel did not even look at Matt as he answered all of his questions with one word. "Sure." He marched straight for the living doll. "Hi, my name's Nathaniel Dietbold. I couldn't help but noticing you while I was up there on the bandstand."  
"I'm Mirabelle," she cooed back. "I really enjoyed your performance."  
"Oh, it wasn't that great."  
"Don't say that!" she chirped. "I just love guitarists."  
_If I were him, I wouldn't care that she loved guitarists_ , Matt thought, giving up on his cousin for that night.

THE BIRDS, THE BEES, AND MIRABELLE

The problem was only just beginning. Matt would come over for his regular lessons, but Nathaniel could not draw himself away from Mirabelle, who inconveniently was always over at the same time. "Oh, not today," Matt's teacher would say, still gazing at the girl instead of him.  
"You said that last week!" Matt protested after this had happened three times. He knew the lessons were more accurately jamming sessions these days, but he still looked forward to these times together.  
Nathaniel sighed and granted Matt a glance. "Look, I promise we'll get back to lessons sometime."  
Matt stood firm. "When?"  
"I don't know!" Looking pained, Nat held a hand to his forehead. "Look, just call me later, all right?"  
"Sure," Matt said, pouting. He walked out the door and started to head for his aunt's house. He stopped, however, and gazed through the window. Through the opening in the curtains, he could see Nathaniel and Mirabelle kissing. Nausea took over him, followed by raging jealousy. He stormed back into the house, causing the lovers to jerk their lips apart in surprise.  
"What is it?" Nathaniel asked in irritation.  
"I need some guitar strings," Matt lied.  
"I thought I just bought you a supply. You break all of them already?"  
"Yeah," Matt said as he bent down over the cabinet drawer and stalled in finding what he claimed he needed.  
"I told you to be careful when tuning up."  
"I know. Maybe you ought to go over it again with me," Matt suggested.  
Nat waved this notion aside. "Naah. I haven't got the time."  
"Why not?"  
"Well, because--" The lovesick man was jarred back to reality for a moment, but soon returned to his wonderland. "Because Mirabelle is over, that's why. Look, you'll understand in just a few years, if not sooner."  
Matt scoffed at his defense. "But what about music, Nat? You said music was the most important thing in your life, under God. You said not even a woman could take a man away from his music."  
Mirabelle spoke up. "Love's more important than music."  
Nathaniel laughed nervously. "Look, Matt, a man can have both his music and a woman." The left-out boy could tell right then that after the freshness of their romance wore off, those two were going to have problems over Nat's career. "Now do you have what you came for?"  
"No. I came for a lesson and I didn't get one."  
Mirabelle's rosy cheeks flushed scarlet. "Oh, we could teach you a lesson, you wise-mouthed brat!"  
"Take it easy, sweetheart," Nat said. "Matt, look, you've been taken lessons from me since you were seven. I've just about taught you everything there is to learn. And damn it, you know how to tune a guitar. So why don't you just leave before you make things worse?"  
"It's not as easy for me to get up here from Trotter as it is for your girlfriend to get here." The boy was fighting back tears of anger, and decided maybe it would be a good idea to leave, with an emphatic slam of the door.  
"Don't you slam the door on us!" he heard Mirabelle yell.

Unfortunately, word about this incident got around to Mr. and Mrs. Winward, and Matt was made out to seem like the bad guy, even though it was Nathaniel who was neglecting his responsibilities. "Maybe it's time to explain to him the facts of life," his mother suggested. "I explained them to Caroline, but I think you as a male should explain them to Matt."  
"Don't you think it's too early yet?"  
"Honey, in these days when religion is on the decline, it's never too early. Besides, you know Matt's hooked on that rock'n'roll music."  
"I don't see what that has to do with it, but all right."  
Matt didn't like what he heard, especially his father's way of phrasing many things not in third person, but talking about it in a futuristic "you". "Now when the time comes when you really love a girl, Matt, you and her will get married and then you will want to have children...." Matt's individualistic mind rebelled against the assumption that this would automatically happen to him someday. The facts of life defined a primitive existence--living solely for the purpose of having and raising kids so that they could raise more kids. He didn't want to find himself caught up in the system.  
Also, the explanation of the birds and the bees didn't justify Nathaniel ignoring him. It was best not to torture himself, though, and Matt began playing guitar on his own, sometimes improvising his own compositions. At first, he missed having a partner, but eventually he forgot the camaraderie that can exist between two jamming guitarists. Playing alone suited his individualistic nature.

CONVERSATIONS

Matt, now fifteen, was helping his mother and sisters clean up in the kitchen. "When I grow up, I wanna be a singer," Betsy announced.  
"No, I wanna be a cowgirl," Wanda Sue disagreed. "What do you wanna be, Caroline?"  
"Caroline practically is grown up," Maw pointed out.  
The girl in question sighed dreamily and answered the question regardless of her age. "I just can't wait to be married to Jim."  
"Well, you soon will be," Maw said. "And you'll be leaving us to move to California."  
"Yeah, Jim's always dreamed of living out there. And you can come and visit us some time. I hear there's a lot of things to see where we're moving."  
"My little girl's getting married! Oh, you've grown up so quick!" Maw cried, hugging her. She then gazed at Matt. "Soon it'll be your turn."  
"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that," Matt replied. He did not mind talking about marriage in connection with Caroline and Jim, though, for they were a lot better than Nathaniel and Mirabelle. In fact, Matt liked them as a couple. It helped that in contrast to Nathaniel ignoring his old family in preference to his girlfriend, sunny Jim paid attention into what he hoped would be an additional branch to his family.  
"What about you, Matt?" Wanda Sue asked. "What do you wanna be?"  
Mrs. Winward laughed. "We all know Matt wants to play guitar. I think your father would rather have you be something else, though."  
"Paw wants me to grow up to be a man," Matt quipped.  
"Well, that seems obvious," his mother remarked. "Not many boys grow up to be a woman."  
"Yeah, I know," Matt said. "But Paw has certain extra ideas about what makes a man a 'real' man. I don't understand why people think that. Some fellas think you're not a real man unless you have all these girls hanging off your arm. Others think you need a lot of muscles. Paw thinks a real man should be serious and hide his emotions, and that when he's old enough, he should take a wife and have a bunch of children."  
"You exaggerate your father's traits," Maw told him. "He has a sense of humor and fun; it's just dry. And remember a practical nature like he has can work both ways."  
"What do you consider being a 'real man', Matt?" Caroline asked teasingly.  
"Being born a male," Matt stated. "There are no other qualifications."  
"People been bugging you about spending too much time in the kitchen with us girls?" Maw wondered.  
"Yeah, that, too." Matt shrugged. "But you know me. I don't want to get married, and I'm not about to fool around, so to some folks, I'm always gonna be a boy, because I haven't lost  
my--" He stopped for fear of being too blunt around his younger sisters. "Well, you know."  
"Oh, don't worry, Matt," Maw told him. "You're way too young for marriage or the uh, 'well, you know' yet. But you never know, someday some girl might--"  
"Oh, no no no," Matt interrupted in protest.

When Matt and his family said goodbye to Caroline and Jim, when they headed to California, Matt called out, “Don’t forget to look out for any celibates!”  
“Uh, well, if we see any, we’ll let you know,” Caroline promised hesitantly.  
_Yeah, California_ , Matt thought. _If there’s anyone out there as weird as me, that’s where they’ve got to be._  
“Matt, would you quit asking everyone if they’re celibate?” his father demanded. “There’s no celibates out here or there.”  
“What about monks and nuns?”  
“One—we’re a Protestant family and you’re not converting to Catholicism. Two—monks and nuns do that as a sacrifice, not just because they want to.”

Sometimes, Matt would sulk about having nobody to relate to—his family, the Indians, any group he thought he might find his niche in. It was more than sulking, actually. It was a bona fide case of depression.  
One day when he was sitting in a dark corner of the Winward Oil garage, his mother grabbed him and dragged him outside. “Matt, look,” she said, bringing him to the edge of the road. “What have you got to be depressed about?” She gestured above. “The sky is turquoise blue. It wasn’t always that way. It used to be choked with coal dust.” She gestured at the asphalt. “Look. Route 66. The golden road. You want to meet people, Matt? They all come through here, the Main Street of America. And here where we live, we’ve got beautiful canyons and valleys. Beautiful Navajo with their adorable children.  
“And the signs,” she continued, glancing at both the Hot Tamale Hotel, which had a lighted tamale, and the Will’s Café sign, which was huge and in some weird shape Matt had learned about in geometry but for which he had forgotten the term.  
“The signs?” Matt asked incredulously.  
“Yeah, the signs. Don’t they look bright and cheerful? Especially at night.”  
Matt thought on the signs and realized he couldn’t envision them in a gloomy or horrific setting. “Yeah, I guess they do look happy.”

A FAMILY REUNION

In West Texas, another of Carole's brothers, Luke, lived in the small town of Adamsville. He was a man of righteous character, and he and his wife Hilda had two daughters, Wilhelmina or "Billie", who was Matt's age, and Zelda, who was born the same year as Jacob.  
Billie was the biggest threat to Matt's celibacy. She was not aggressive; all she had to be was who she was--a beautiful, young girl whom Matt felt truly sentimental about. To him, her hair was golden and her cheeks as rosy as spring. Her blue eyes were jewels and her aura snow white. At first he felt guilty about these feelings towards his cousin, then he figured that since he was celibate, it didn't matter. Besides, she was his cross cousin, and in some cultures romantic feelings towards such were the standard.  
These affections made him enjoy visiting Uncle Luke and his family more than ever. Billie's sister Zelda would often accompany her and Matt horseback riding, but Matt didn't mind. In truth, it was actually Billie and Matt who accompanied the adventurous Zelda. Such a time was during the three family get together in the summer of 1964.  
Zelda, on a dapple-grey mount named Blueberry Muffin, led the way up a hill trail. As Matt watched her, he mused on how she was no threat to his willpower, being on the plain side. He had once heard some kids call her "horse girl", and it had obviously not been because she often rode horses. He liked her, though, for her personality was anything but plain. "Matt, I'm gonna show you a secret cabin Billie and I found earlier while trail riding. But you have to agree not to tell anyone about it."  
Up on the top of the hill, the lone cabin stood. Zelda dismounted, tying Blueberry Muffin to a tree. She opened the creaking, protesting door. Inside was a cobweb filled room. "Just one room?" Matt asked.  
"There's a closet or something else back there," Zelda pointed out. "I haven't seen what's behind that door yet. Maybe I should." Resolutely, she stepped inside. A bug dropped upon her. Both she and Billie squealed, and Zelda leaped back outside.  
"Come on, let's go now," Billie suggested.  
Regaining her composure, Zelda remarked, "I shouldn't let little bugs stop me."  
"We should be heading back now anyway," her sister reminded her. "Maw's cooking a big lunch, and Uncle John and Aunt Mary are going to be over." Zelda consented and remounted Blueberry Muffin.  
"That was cool," Matt told Zelda as they rode back to town. "I may come up there and live someday. Be a hermit."  
"You'll certainly get peace and quiet if that's what you're looking for," she replied. "Hey, if you're interested, I may be able to cut you a deal on it."  
"Yeah, right, Zelda."

At lunch, the seven Winwards, the four members of Uncle Luke's family, plus Aunt Mary and Uncle John were all gathered around two outdoor tables. The visiting aunt and uncle asked Matt how he was coming along with guitar. "I still play all the time."  
"That's good," Aunt Mary said, patting down her large brunette hairdo. "Nathaniel said he wishes you'd come back sometime. He realized now he neglected you."  
"Getting too starry-eyed over that fool woman," Uncle John remarked, his skin flushed as usual.  
"Oh, now, John, don't you go talking about your daughter-in-law that way."  
"He could do better than her. Now that his career's picking up, she wants to stop him. She didn't want him to go on the state tour of Texas he's on now."  
"Well, you can't blame her for that," Aunt Mary countered. "It will take him away from home for a while.”  
"She should've known better than to get involved with a music man if she wanted a normal home life. Anyway, Matt, Nathaniel just wanted you to know he realizes that now; he shouldn't have kept putting off your guitar lessons."  
"He mentioned to us specifically to tell you," Aunt Mary stated.  
"Oh, tell him that's okay," Matt said. "I ain't been bitter or anything. I mean, it's true I was hurt at the time, but I'm not mad now."  
"Well, he'll be glad to hear that next time he calls us," Aunt Mary remarked.  
"Whenever he calls us," Uncle John added.

After lunch, the weather brought about one hot and thirsty  
afternoon. Matt and his cousins knew a secret fall, though, where water managed to survive. Billie and Zelda had to decline coming, their mother keeping them busy with chores she didn't want her guests participating in. Alone, Matt sneaked off to this haven of water, and upon reaching it, thought that he had it all to himself.  
A pair of long-lashed, green eyes, however, was peering at him through the trees. They saw the wind tangle his long, black hair, and saw him remove his shoes and shirt. Clad in only his jeans, he sat down on the rocks under the waterfall, and the refreshing liquid cascaded down his bare back.  
The owner of the green eyes threw a stone into the pool of water. Matt looked into the trees, and an auburn haired teenage girl stepped out. "Hello," she greeted.  
"Hey," Matt returned nonchalantly.  
She disrobed to reveal a skimpy bikini, then stepped into the stream. "Nice looks you've got," she said.  
"Oh, thanks," Matt replied to the complimentary tone of her voice, then caught on. "Nice **what**?"  
"You heard me. Come in, why don't you?"  
"Um, no thanks. I just want to get the dust off my back, that's all."  
"Then I'll come up there." She climbed upon the rocks and, sitting down by Matt, ran her hands along him. "I'll get that dust off."  
"Hey!" Matt warned, drawing away. "Just cool it, okay?"  
"Take it easy!" In a moment, she had slipped her hands back onto Matt's shoulders. "My name's Diana. I come from Tulsa--"  
Matt again eased away from her touch. "Look, Diane--"  
"Diana."  
"Diana. We don't even know each other--"  
She smiled coyly. "That's okay. We can get to know each other."  
Instead, Matt got up and put his shirt and shoes back on. "Uh, look, I haven't got time to stick around. I've got to get back to my uncle's for supper."  
Back at his relatives' house, his parents and aunts and uncles told Matt that he had done the right thing by leaving as quickly as possible. "For a lot of boys, that might've ended up being their first time," Aunt Hilda pointed out. "Some girls are mighty forward like that."  
"I'm glad you didn't pay her no mind," Billie commented.

MIRACLES OF LIFE

"Congratulations, Matt," Maw said enthusiastically.  
"What did I do?" he asked, having simply come into the kitchen for breakfast. Jacob, Betsy, and Wanda Sue were already eating.  
"You and Jacob are now officially uncles."  
"And we're aunts," Betsy chirped.  
"The baby was born?" Matt surmised.  
Mrs. Winward picked up a note pad that was lying next to the phone. "Caroline and Jim are now the proud parents of a baby  
girl--Jaymee Deborah Frayne, 6 pounds and 11 ounces. Born at 4:15 this morning--August 15th, 1965—at Santa Virginia Memorial in California. Soon there will be a new resident at 1612 El Ciervo Street."  
"You gonna be a journalist, Maw?" Matt asked. She sure had been specific about the details.  
"Ooh, I do hope we get to see her soon!"  
"What color were her eyes?" Betsy wondered.  
"Oh, you forget a detail," Matt remarked, then said, "Maybe we can go on a vacation out there."  
"Brown. Well, Matt, a vacation would be nice, but your father would probably prefer them coming here."  
"But they've already seen everything here. We ain't seen everything there."  
"That's true, but don't worry about it now. We don't even have any plans yet."  
Hope had been planted in him, though, and it was with wistfulness that Matt left the house to go rock collecting.

Out in the mountains, Matt thought about how lonely he felt in a crowded household. Sometimes his arms would itch from a desire to hold something. He bet if he asked someone about it, they would say it was a longing to embrace a girl. Matt didn't think that was necessarily the case. It was merely a wistfulness to hold someone who was a friend. All of Matt's closest acquaintances were relatives, and they just didn't seem to understand many things about him. He knew most everybody else in Trotter, too, and none of them comprehended celibacy. Yet although most of them were amused by Matt’s celibacy, they let him alone to chart his own course. People were easy-going like that in this part of the country.  
Any time somebody new visited town, Matt would interrogate them, but he found no soul mates. "I guess you're one of those people who was cut out to be a loner," was all the consolation Maw could offer. Maybe if he traveled more, meeting many people, he would come across someone special someday.  
Lost in his lonesome reverie, and also deafened by the portable radio he had brought with him, Matt did not notice a rock in his path. He tripped, falling on the dirt, his head looking over a huge cliff. Part of him—a dark side he didn’t realized he had—suddenly wanted to leap, so that he could die and leave this lonely world.  
“Don’t do it, Matt,” he heard three entwined voices say. “You haven’t met us yet.”  
A cheery Consorts—the “Fabulous Foursome”--song came on the radio. Matt backed away slowly. _No. I have something to live for. And somehow, that rock’n’roll quartet has something to do with it._


	3. Timmy

SOLO LIVES

CHAPTER TWO: TIMMY ROWE

_Timmy is the dog—perhaps even the puppy. Joyful and mischievous at times, at others, sad-eyed and pitiful. Puppies are so adorable, yet humans often put them to sleep._

TIMMY'S RELATIVES

Marvin Rowe's wife was a pain. She always wanted material things, she always wanted him to spend more time with their two sons, Mark and Marty, and she was, in general, a nag. Once a pretty brunette with naturally curly hair, she was now quite stern looking.

Eunice Trent was different. She always listened, and she had a delightful sense of humor. Marvin liked being with her, talking to her, looking at her auburn curls and her green eyes. It was temporary escapism, then back to the old boor.

It began innocently enough for Eunice. She was just a friendly secretary, trying to do her best and be kind to her boss, who was going through severe problems with his wife. She had never meant to get involved with him. Then an opening came up, and she wanted the promotion. She had small hopes for attaining it, but then Marvin, or should I say, that nice Mr. Rowe, had interfered and secured the position for her.

On the first of October that year of 1948, he surprised her by dropping by personally at her apartment to tell her how she might thank him for it. First he took her out to dinner at a luxurious French restaurant that she never thought she would see the inside of. "For all practical purposes, Harriet and I are divorced," he told her. "And I've got a new flat I'd like you to see." He wanted to get her into bed; she knew he did, and she realized now she liked him. She had an affinity for redheads. She had repressed her desire before when she thought he was married. If the divorce was final, though, well, Eunice was a curious and impatient virgin, not a prude.

Later that week, she discovered that although Marvin and Harriet were separated, that what Marvin considered "practically divorced" simply meant that there was no chance of saving the marriage. The official divorce had not taken place. "Mar--I mean, **Mister** Rowe, I quit!"

She took a job working in the office of a small theater, and would not see her one-time lover. Then she found out that she was pregnant, and she didn't want to go through it alone.

She returned to the old business for a visit. Mr. Rowe looked up in shock. "Eun--I mean, Miss Trent, how nice to see you."

"You mean, it's nice to see me and our unborn child."

"You don't mean--?"

"Yes, I mean that. Can I expect any help from you or not?"

"Eunice, look, I never meant to hurt you." He sighed. "I thought that since Harriet and I were separated, it really didn't matter if I started pursuing other relationships, but you were too angry to let me explain that."

"Well, who wouldn't be?"

Mr. Rowe wrung his hands. "Look, I want you to know that I **do** love you, and I've missed you very much. Look, the divorce will soon take place, then if you want you can move in with me."

"Move in with you? Just a man and a woman and their love child living together?"

"No, I mean, we can get married. Immediately after everything else is settled."

"So how long has this been going on?" demanded an indignant voice. Harriet Rowe stalked into the office, fifteen-year old Mark and ten-year old Marty trailing behind.

"Harriet, what are you doing here?" Marvin demanded. "And with the kids, too."

"Yes, I hate to expose them to the real world," Harriet remarked. "Their father had an affair with his secretary and now they've got a half-brother or sister on the way."

Mark was in a confused stage between sadness and anger. 

"Dad--!" he began, then bolted out the door. From some distance down the hall, they heard him crying. Marty remained beside his mother, not knowing quite what to make of things yet.

"I just dropped by to say we were going holiday shopping," Harriet reported smugly. "And that you might want to meet us for dinner after work. But I suppose that doesn't matter now." She left, dragging Marty along.

“I never meant for this to happen!" Eunice sobbed.

"Me, neither, honey," Marvin reassured, trying desperately to calm her. "Ignore her, she's a nag."

Marvin and Eunice celebrated the new year as the new Rowes. Their return from their California honeymoon was saddened by the news that Mark had become a suicide case. It was time to leave Virginia. Southern California had been beautiful. The Rowes moved to a suburban neighborhood in a town called Santa Virginia.

The weather of the afternoon of June 3rd, 1949 was wishy-washy, one moment sunny and the next moment drizzly. The boy born into this sporadically cloudy summer day had crystal clear blue eyes, and his father's red hair. "Oh, you're beautiful," Eunice cooed when alone with her newborn. "And you know something--I gonna make sure you grow up different from your parents. Sorry to break this to you so early, kid, but you were born to lousy parents. But there'll be no stormy affairs for you, or deep, dark secrets. You're gonna go to Sunday School!"

As for the stormy affairs and dark secrets of the family's past, Timothy Alan Rowe's parents decided to keep that confidential. As far as the boy would know, this was the first marriage for both his young mother and older father, and he was the only child.

GRANDMA PENELOPE

Eunice’s mom, Penelope, or “Granna Penopee”, as toddler Timmy called her, was house-sitting and babysitting while Mr. And Mrs. Rowe were away, hoping a romantic vacation would revitalize their already sagging marriage. Penelope liked these quiet times, just her and Timmy and only simple tasks to do each day.

One of these tasks was to give Timmy a bath. As she took the “big comfy” towel to dry him off, her thoughts wandered to the future. _Someday it won’t be me here with him,_ she thought. _It will be some pretty young lady, hopefully his wife, wanting to take a shower with him, tempting him with her nudity. By then your name will be Tim. No more Timmy. And your parts and her parts will fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle._

She shuddered.

_Oh, why do I react that way? It’s just the facts of life. No use denying the inevitable. Hopefully, his wife will be a wonderful woman. She and he will provide Eunice with many grandchildren._

Penelope was no prophetess.

She took hold of his pajamas, which were decorated with a Super Puppy motif, Super Puppy being the child’s favorite cartoon. She put the clothes on him and chased him into his bedroom.

She had a comforter laid down on the floor, with a blanket piled on top of it. Just for the time she was in charge, before Mr. And Mrs. Rowe reappeared, she was going to indulge young Timmy’s wish to sleep on the floor.

She tucked him in as best she could. He cuddled a stuffed dog that looked only vaguely like Super Puppy, but Timmy called it “S’perpuppy” anyway. “Guess what, Timmy? Tomorrow for breakfast we won’t have cold ol’ cereal. I’m making pancakes!”

“Pancakes!” Timmy shouted gleefully, his eyes shining brightly.

 _Someday only a beautiful girl will give him that gleam in the eye._ “Oh, Timmy, promise me you’ll stay innocent forever!”

“What’s innothent?”

“You’ll find out--”

“When I get older,” Timmy finished knowingly.

MAKING THE BEST OF THINGS

Eunice Rowe did remember her promise to send Timothy to Sunday School and to church, but she herself was agnostic and did not stay for the services. Marvin Rowe was an affirmed atheist and refused to have anything to do with Christianity, becoming angry when pressed about it by the adults at St. Paul's. Timmy himself learned from the time he was in his first class for four and five year olds how to pester his parents to come.

By this time, the boy's hair was a huge, red mass of wild curls, the color of dried blood, and he would scream and wail whenever it was decided it would be better for him to have his hair shaved short. His hair did confuse some people, who at first mistook him for a cute little girl. The occasional false impressions and the taunts from other boys did not seem to deter young Timmy, who even at this age, seemed to have cut a path for himself away from the rest of society. In fact, Timmy didn't even seem to realize he was different, rarely begging for things all the other kids had or to be able to do the things they were allowed to do.

"Rock and roll is cool," Timmy announced to his parents, putting a single on that he had bought with his own allowance money. "I don't see anything wrong with it, do you, Daddy?" Timmy would feel guilty about many things over the years, yet it rarely occurred to his conscience to ponder the supposed evil of rock’n’roll. Rock to him was just for fun, or in later years, a safe outlet into which to channel his frustrations.

"Yeah, Timmy," his father said, more interested in getting on with his argument with Eunice than analyzing this new kind of music his seven year old son was getting into. "The problem with you is you never listen anymore. You used to be such a good listener. I used to feel--"

"Some people at St. Paul's don't like it, but I think it's okay," Timmy continued, trying to tune out the bad vibrations.

"I still listen to you!" Eunice countered. "I don't always like what I have to hear, but I listen. You never listen to me."

"Will you let me finish what I was going to say? I used to feel relaxed around you. You were a nice contrast to Harriet. Now you've become just like her."

"How so?"

"Who's Harriet?" Timmy asked.

"An old girlfriend of mine," Mr. Rowe explained hurriedly. "From before I met your mother. She used to complain all the time."

"Oh, I complain too much now, is that it?" Mrs. Rowe demanded, and the arguing went back to full force.

Timmy interrupted. "Can you be quiet? I can't hear the music."

They ignored him.

Timmy had an idea. He grabbed his Mom’s left hand and his Dad’s right hand. “C’mon, let’s dance! Nobody’s mad when they’re dancing!” he reasoned.

Marvin Rowe forcefully jerked his hand from Timmy’s. “Please, Timmy, this is no time for your foolishness!”

“And turn that music down, Timmy! Your father and I are trying to have a conversation."

Timmy tried to turn the volume down, got confused, and turned it up. Before he could correct his mistake, his father yanked the record off the player and threw it against the wall, breaking it.

COMING OF AGE?

Timmy, now readily approaching fourteen, had been a big fan of the surfing groups since he had first heard them on the radio. The lead singer sang teasingly of endless days of fun and sun, surfing, and cruising in magnificent cars. "That's the life for me," Timmy decided, even though he hardly ever even swam and hated it when salt water got up his nose. In fact, Timmy rarely saw the beach, spending most of his free time in his room. The dreamland of his favorite songs was just a short walk away, but the suburban world of sameness existed even in southern California, and Timmy was trapped in it.

He also loved Janet, the little surfer girl. He didn't know her personally; however, she was the star of his favorite television show. She was always cheerful and enthusiastic, like the music that went along with her. She was cute, too, brunette and ponytailed, one of the first girls Timmy really liked. Nothing could tear him away from the set when she was on, and if someone else was watching a program and an advertisement for this week's Janet Dean episode came on, he would come racing into the room. 

Then one day he read a magazine interview that shattered his image with her. Janet Dean wasn't like her TV/movie persona at all. She complained about being typecast with a goody-two-shoes image. She talked about the growing youth movement of protest, and how her fictional characterization was just a product manufactured by the obsolete mores of yesterday's Americans. "It's what the older generation wants to see. She's not like real teens at all, and many don't feel like she represents them."

"Sez who?" Timmy wondered aloud, fond of the image himself. He sighed. Well, if you can't trust apple pie Janet Dean, is there anyone left to trust?

Despite his disillusionment, Timmy's crush on Janet Dean caused Mrs. Rowe to realize her boy was growing up. "Timmy is thirteen now, going on fourteen," she reminded Marvin. "It's time you gave him a little talk."

"What's he done?"

"Nothing. I mean, give him the talk about--"

"Oh, right. The birds and the bees. I didn't think I'd be needing to talk to him about anything he's done; he's such a goody-goody. But you're right, I should have given him that talk a couple of years ago, but I guess I didn't cause all he showed for puberty was a crush on a few film stars. It's those church services you send him to. He actually pays attention to them." He rose from his easy chair and walked into Timmy's bedroom. "Timmy, you're thirteen now, going on fourteen, and it's time we had a little talk."

"I didn't do anything."

"No, not about that," Mr. Rowe explained, closing the door.

In the den, Mrs. Rowe took Marvin's place on the easy chair, listening in. She pricked up her ears when her husband began to deviate from the standard textbook facts. "Now, Timmy, you're a boy and you're gonna be curious about sex even if you don't show it openly. And I want you to know it's okay for guys to experiment. Why, when I was a young man..."

"Experiment!" Eunice whispered aloud. "My little boy?"

When Mr. Rowe had finished his talk, Mrs. Rowe went to Timmy to clarify things. "Now most of what your father said was correct, but I have to make sure you know one thing--"

"It's not okay to experiment," Timmy completed. He put on as deep as voice as he could manage, and quipped, "Even if you're a red-blooded, All-American male."

"You're smarter than me."

"I don't understand what the big deal is anyway." 

"Big deal about what?"

"Well, like, let's say, marriage. All I hear is wives complaining about their husbands and husbands complaining about their wives. So why does everyone want to get married?"

His mother sighed. "I don't know, Timmy. But you will, too, when the right girl comes along."

"I'm not so sure."

"Maybe things will work out better for you and her than it has for your father and I. Many couples **are** happy. Remember that."

Timmy sighed. "I just don't see many of these happy couples around. If they're happy, they don't show it."

Mr. Rowe walked back in. "Timmy, if you're a boy, you don't show it."

"Why, Marvin, how dare you listen in!"

"Well, you were listening in on me!"

"You told our son it was okay for him to mess around before he got married. That was wrong."

"You're such a hypocrite. I mean, you fooled around before you got married."

"Well, I was wrong. Marvin, I don't think that this is a thing we should be discussing in front of the boy." They went to their bedroom, to argue there.

THE WORLD CRASHES

In 1964, the Consorts were the hottest group in the free world, and their movie was filled with an exuberance matched only by the "life is wonderful" atmosphere of the beach movies. Janet Dean had been in a few of the latter the past couple of years, moonlighting from her TV show, and Megan Llewllyn was also one of the recurring stars. Timmy liked her almost as much as he liked Janet, whose real life morals he had tried to forgive and forget about. The teenyboppers were happy and enjoying the world. Timmy would have loved to have joined them in celebrating, but even the excitement of the times could not keep his spirits from tumbling down. 

Looking back, he could see how it set in gradually. In teen movies, everything was ideal. The girls were sweet and innocent. The guys seemed like they wanted to go all the way, but their girls would hold them off. It was hard to believe the guys would have gone through with such a naughty thing anyway. After all, they never swore and were otherwise heroic.

In reality, whenever teens gathered together, they would talk and talk about sex, sprinkling their conversations with plenty of profanity.

The popular culture was a double-edged sword. It was a great year to be alive, but if you weren't in with the crowd, you were ridiculed. Timmy had never realized before just how much of an outsider he was. Now he was beginning to get more and more stares and rude remarks, and all because he was merely being himself. _I’m not hurting anyone simply by existing,_ he thought in silent defense.

Then on July 20th of that year, he answered the door and found a crew-cut redhead standing outside. "Who are you?" Timmy asked.

"I'm Marty."

"Marty who?"

"Martin Rowe, you little brat."

"Huh?"

"Look, kiddo, I'm your half-brother. Didn't anyone ever tell you your dad was married before?"

Timmy shook his head, completely confused. "No."

"They decided to keep it a secret from you, huh? No wonder Dad told me to meet him downtown. But I thought I'd rather drop by and see his new pad." He swaggered past Timmy and into the living room.

Slowly, Timmy shut the door. "Does Dad have any other kids I should know about?"

"Yeah, I had a brother. His name was Mark."

Timmy noticed the emphasis on the past tense. "What happened to him?"

Marty rummaged through the refrigerator, and retrieved a can of beer. Popping the lid open, he answered, "When he found out your mom and our dad were having an affair, and that your mom was pregnant with you, he killed himself. Couldn't handle it. He wanted the whole world to be snow white. I can't say I cared much for it either, not that I'm any stricter on myself when it comes to women." He sat down on the easy chair and kicked back his heels.

Mrs. Rowe had woken from her nap, and came out into the living room. "Timmy, who's--? Marty Rowe, why I never--!"

"Hello, Miss Trent," Marty greeted casually. "Is my father home yet?"

"No, he should be here any minute now. Well, er, why don't you make yourself at home until then?"

Marty took another sip of his beer and looked up. "I am."

Mrs. Rowe stalled. "Well, I, uh, I have to tend to the laundry."

"Sure," Marty said knowingly, and she walked out of the room. "So, brat, you like girls yet? You must, I'd say you're

around--" In a low but intelligible voice, he made calculations aloud. "Let's see, it was in 48 that Mark shot himself but you weren't born until the next year...Fourteen now?"

"Fifteen," Timmy corrected. "I turned fifteen in June."

"That's how old Mark was when he killed himself. You like girls now? I'm not sure he did."

Timmy shrugged in reply.

"Fifteen's how old I was when I first got lucky, if you know what I mean. Better hurry up, kiddo."

"Fifteen's way too young!" Timmy exclaimed. "Even if it wasn't wrong in the first place. I don't know where you get your ideas."

"Probably from my own life. Well, hopefully before sixteen..."

"Sixteen?" Timmy demanded. "A guy should be eighteen, at least, and married."

"How about that, a goody-two-shoes! I never expected a goody-two-shoes to come out of such a sordid affair."

"Look," Timmy said. "I'm not gonna let you bring me down."

"Okay. I'm not gonna let you bring me down either."

They heard a car pull into the driveway, and the fall of footsteps. Mr. Rowe soon entered the house. "Marty! I told you to meet me downtown."

I thought I might like to see your family."

"Timmy, do you mind leaving the room?" Mr. Rowe requested firmly. Almost gratefully, the boy went inside his bedroom. He could hear his father growl, "Now, Marty, if you start giving Eunice and Timmy a hard time, I'll cut your stay short."

"Fine by me."

"Look, son, I was hoping this would be a time we could reconcile our differences."

"What's there to reconcile? I'm just like you are. I sleep with whoever I want."

Mr. Rowe's voice rose from his soft but intense level of controlled anger to a height of loud fury. " **Get out of my house!** " "Sure."

"Now!"

Timmy heard Marty rise from the chair and go outside. He closed the door behind him, but Mr. Rowe opened it again, yelling, "And don't come back here ever again!" Then came the inevitable slam.

A knock sounded on Timmy's door. "Timmy, can I come in? I have something I need to explain to you."

The whole revelation had shocked Timmy, but he decided he wasn't going to let it upset him. Weakened by his growing knowledge of the barrier between him and his peers, however, his strength gave out in half a day. Depression set in.

A NEW HOBBY

A string of dreary September days was broken by a visit from wealthy salesman Uncle Tab Malvin and Eunice's sister, Lucille. Uncle Tab, a large man with dark, receding hair, was funny, congenial, and best of all, he didn't call Timmy a helpless freak. His relatively quiet wife, like her sister, was an auburn haired woman.

Timmy, his parents, and his aunt and uncle enjoyed a meal at a bistro, which Uncle Tab argued beforehand over the right to pay. In a way that didn't threaten the boy, Tab questioned Timmy on what were his likes and dislikes. 

"Timmy's been awfully frustrated lately because he thinks no one understands him," Mrs. Rowe explained.

"He doesn't sound so strange to me!" Tab exclaimed cheerfully. "He likes the Consorts, beach movies, surf music, and Janet Dean. Lots of kids do. So he also listens to polka and Turkish folk songs and what not. So he likes to do funny voices. So he's sworn himself to celibacy. So what?"

"So the other kids don't like me," Timmy said.

"Yeah, so? Don't let their ignorance bother you. But look, if you're frustrated, I know a great way of working it out of your system. Look, you seem to like music a lot, why not take up drum lessons?"

"He takes up everything for six weeks," Mr. Rowe pointed out. "Then he forgets about it. It's getting a bit hard to pay for all his stuff."

"Hey, that's okay. I tell you what I'll do--I'm so sure he'll like playing the drums, I'll buy the kid a set."

"Oh, now, Tab!" Lucille chided.

"Really, you don't have to do that," Timmy insisted. "I don't need a drum set. I'm trying to study foreign languages right now."

"That's good, that's a good thing to do. But trying to memorize that _amo_ , _amas_ , _amat_ and all that, that can cause you extra frustration. I still say becoming a drummer will do you good. Trust me, I'm a little bit psychic, aren't I?" He turned to his wife for confirmation.

"Sighting a UFO doesn't mean you're psychic," she replied.

He would not be deterred. "But it does mean I'm in touch with the supernatural, don't it?"

His hard sell training won Timmy and his parents over, and they allowed him to buy his nephew a drum set, drumsticks, and a few lesson books. After it had been brought home and the company had left, Mr. Rowe warned Timmy, "You're going to have to learn how to play them yourself. Don't think I'm paying for lessons."

Timmy was hesitant about a hobby he had not decided on himself, but Uncle Tab had guessed right. He continued playing the drums. He had no set times in which he would play, but found he loved it so much, he was practicing many times a day, and with the help of a timer, books, and records, was learning fast. Eventually, his father saw he was going to stick with this one and paid for official lessons. The drum teacher, seeing how much Timmy already had picked up, did not make him start at the beginning.

DATE AND DISASTER

School was out and it was the summer of 1965. The Manns, a family that was friends of the Rowes, was visiting. They had a teenage daughter, Emily. She was a pretty girl who wore her brown-black hair in two ponytails. It was obvious she wouldn't mind getting to know Timmy better. He felt comfortable talking with her as friends, but did not even think about pursuing it further. As the Manns were saying goodbye, Emily winked at Timmy. "Why don't you give me a call tomorrow?"

"Yes, why don't you?" Mrs. Rowe said upon closing the door. Timmy noticed that immediately after company left, tension returned to the household. "It's been a long time since you've been out on a date."

"I don't even remember him ever being out on one in the first place," Mr. Rowe pointed out. 

"Yes, you should get out more often," his mother advised. "You spend all your time alone just listening to music and staring at the ceiling."

"You know, a friend of mine who has a son in your school told me his son says the guys are starting to talk about you. They think you might be homosexual." It was odd, Timmy thought, that his father nagged him about not dating enough. His schoolmates were always upset that their parents tried to keep them at home.

"Aw, I am not homosexual!" Timmy exclaimed.

"Well, you better start taking out girls then if you don't want them saying that."

Irritated, Timmy waved the notion aside. "I don't have to prove anything to them. They don't understand me anyway."

"That's another thing, Timmy," Mrs. Rowe brought up. "You're always complaining that no one understands you. Well, how are you ever going to make any friends if you never go out with anyone?"

Her words seemed to contradict. "Every time I go out with the other kids, I feel more lonely than when I'm alone!" Timmy protested. "They make me feel like I don't belong anywhere." Conversations like this frustrated Timmy, but at least, he thought, picking on him gave his parents the chance to work together instead of fighting each other. He stumbled back into his room, the only place where any sense of peace of mind existed for him. He put on a surf album and tried to play a beat along to the song. In time, he felt better, but not completely at ease.

"Someone out there must understand," he said aloud. He remembered with guilt how the pastor had said that God was the only friend you needed. _God, without You I'm nothing, but please give me a flesh-and-blood friend, too._

Timmy was watching a favorite episode of Janet Dean when his father came in and shut off the television. "Harold said you didn't call Emily. Why not?"

"I never **said** I was going to call her," Timmy protested.

"I thought your mother and I agreed you should call her."

"You agreed, but you didn't say I had to."

"Now listen here--"

"Dad, you know how literally I take things. If I had thought you were ordering me to call her, I would have."

"I don't want any son of mine to be called homosexual--even if he is."

"I'm not, Dad. Look--" He switched the television back on. "I like Janet Dean, you know. I've had a crush on her for a long time now. I think she's really cute."

"That's TV!" Mr. Rowe cried in exasperation, shutting the set off. "Okay, you wanted an order? I hereby order you to call Emily and take her out."

"What if she says no?"

"Well, if she says no, then you don't," Mr. Rowe said slowly, as though explaining things to an idiot. "But if she says yes, then you do. _Capice_?"

Timmy walked outside of the teen party. Emily had suggested it when he called, her friend being the hostess. He leaned up against the wall of the strangers' house, sighing. 

A few minutes later, Emily walked out. "Oh, there you are, Timmy. What are you doing out here?"

Timmy just looked down at the ground and shook his head.

"Come on back inside," she insisted. "This is a party! You're supposed to have fun!"

"Sometimes I wish I were dead," Timmy muttered, his lip trembling.

"Now Timmy, come on. How do you think I feel hearing you say things like that--when you're out on a date with me?"

"It's nothing personal, Emily. I like you fine. But I'm just not the dating type."

"That's great, Timmy," she said with a forced smile. "Just great."

"Emily, really, it's has nothing to do with you. It's problems I have with my family, you know, and school. I don't date any other girls, either."

"Timmy, come on, tell me what's the matter."

"I did. It's just life." He shrugged. "I don't know. Everything."

"Everything?" she repeated doubtfully. "How can everything in your life be wrong?"

"Well, maybe there's a couple of good things," he admitted hesitantly.

"See? Like what?"

He smiled weakly. "Take inventory of the good stuff, huh? Yeah, I try to remember that." 

"Will you just come inside a little while longer? We don't have to stay till the end."

"All right." He followed her back into the house.

When Timmy returned home, he had to make a report to his parents. "Did you give her a kiss?" Mr. Rowe asked.

Timmy looked confused. "No, of course not."

Mr. Rowe looked exasperated, but fortunately exasperated in a bemused manner. "Timmy, that's how you're supposed to end the date." He smirked. "At the least."

"Marvin Rowe!" Mrs. Rowe interrupted. "I don't know what things were like when you were growing up, but my parents didn't consider it proper for a guy to even kiss a girl before marriage."

"Yeah, but that certainly didn't stop anybody from breaking the rules."

The phone rang. Mrs. Rowe answered it. "Oh, hello, Judy." That was the name of Emily's mother. Timmy knew from the way his mother looked at him that the call was going to get him in trouble. "What's that, Judy? She's been crying ever since she came home?"

Mr. Rowe glared at his son. "Well, she wasn't crying when I dropped her off!" Timmy protested in a whisper.

Mrs. Rowe finished getting the information on the disastrous date and hung up. "She says Emily was crying because Timmy walked out of the party, saying he was going to kill himself."

"I didn't say that!"

"Well, what did you say?"

"I said that I wished I were dead."

Mr. Rowe angrily shoved his son against the wall. "So, you wish you were dead, huh?" He grabbed Timmy's throat with both hands and shook him. "You wish you were dead? Well, I can arrange--"

"Marvin! You let go of that boy this instant!" Mrs. Rowe screamed. Mr. Rowe's grip loosened slightly.

Timmy pulled himself away. "You think this makes me want to live? Oh, I really love life now, what with my own father trying to strangle me."

"Marvin Rowe, this is it!" Mrs. Rowe announced. "I am divorcing you." She stormed off into the bedroom.

Mr. Rowe slapped Timmy roughly across the face. "Look what you've done now, you little brat!"

In the bathroom, Timmy wiped the blood away from his lip. "What a night," he said aloud. Impulsively, he opened the medicine cabinet. "Anything in here that looks good?"

He didn't believe that what he was doing was right, but he could barely help it. One strong prescription caught his eye. "Yes, this will do nicely." He opened the bottle and dumped out some pills into his hand. "So he can help arrange it if I want to die? Then he certainly won't mind."

For a moment, he stared at the pills in his hand, feeling fear down in his stomach. Faced with death, his instinct to preserve his life revived. The desire for escape was stronger, though, and it silenced the instinct.

Timmy poured himself a glass of water. "Here goes nothing,” he said before stuffing the pills into his mouth. But then, his urge to cling to life resurfaced. Before he could swallow the pills down, he spit them out into the wastebasket. 

His mother was there beside his bed the next morning. "Timmy, I was emptying the trash this morning--" she began hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," Timmy muttered, knowing what she was trying to confront him about.

"It's gonna be all right," she said soothingly. "He's gone, you know. I kicked him out of the house."

"Who's gone?"

"Your father. I kicked him out and tomorrow I'm filing for divorce. He can move to that new job in Hartford alone."

"Aw, you don't have to do that, Mom."

"I want to. He's bad to me, too, you know."

"It's too bad. I don't want to have that kind of a relationship with him."

"I know, dear."

"I mean, I believe in trying to get along with others as best you can. Not to have bad blood between you and anyone else."

"You did try, Timmy. But if the other person doesn't cooperate, there's nothing you can do."

HOPE SPRINGS IN FALL

School was interesting only because it was the first day. That afternoon, carrying his school bag, Timmy returned to his home. He unlocked the door and entered the humid, empty house. He dropped his load of books in a corner of the room and sighed. "Homework already, then clean the house." It was depressing, but at least his father was gone, living in Connecticut. The household was a little less tense, though his mother and he were still on shaky ground, trying to adjust.

"This is weird," he said aloud. "Talking to myself." He smiled mischievously. "But then again, I am a weird person."

He swung from a sad mood to a zany one, bounding into his bedroom, whose walls he had painted himself, in a random mass of miscellaneous colors. Boy, it had taken a lot of begging to get his mother's permission to do that. He started playing many rock records while coming up with his own drum set arrangements on the side.

One song he listened to had lyrics about a bereaved lover taking his own life. It caused Timmy to remember his attempt at suicide. No repeat incidents had happened, though, and Timmy wondered what had kept him going.

"Hope." He beat rapidly on the drums. The crisp sound of the snare bolted out in between and with the boom of the bass, then came a chain of thumps on the tom-toms, and finally a resounding clash on the ride cymbal. 


	4. Patrick

SOLO LIVES

CHAPTER THREE: PATRICK KEEFE

_Patrick is the deer—beautiful to behold, gentle and innocent. Yet instead of men leaving such fragile beauty alone, they make a sport out of hunting the deer down._

SON OF NUN

Unlike most babies, Patrick was not conceived under ecstatic circumstances. It happened on December 8, 1948, when young Jasmine Keefe, a would-be sister, was raped. Jasmine, distraught at her pregnancy, and hardly able to bear the awful reality, dropped out of the convent and returned to her parents' home in Dedham, Massachusetts. When Patrick Jonathan Keefe was born the dawn of August 7, 1949, the new mother seemed oblivious to the doctor's cheery cry, "It's a boy!"

She looked at her newborn's son naked body and thought how terrible it was that he was a male. Once he hit adolescence, he would think his own sexual satisfaction was important enough to justify ruining a girl's life. She did not realize then that he would always be a man-child.

For many months after that, Jasmine would not recognize her baby boy. Her parents took care of him while she lay in her room, staring at the slanted attic ceiling. It didn't help that her green-eyed, golden haired son looked like her attacker. That man had been scarred, worn, bruised, and rugged, though, and as her father claimed, Patrick was untouched and innocent.

As time went on, her parents managed to draw her out of her room more often, for walks in the park, drives out in the countryside, or trips up to Boston. She could hear friends from high school make remarks upon the scene of two grandparents being attentive to the child, while his mother tagged dismally behind.

"Oh, what a darling little boy!"

"Yes, it's a shame about Jazz, though. She never takes care of him. Her parents do all the work."

"I know she didn't plan to have a baby, but still, I just can't imagine how any mother could treat her child that way."

When Patrick first began stringing words together intelligibly, he brought his mother's attention his way. "Why don't you like to play, Mommy?" he asked.

"Mommy doesn't like to play because she has been a sad person these last few years," Jasmine replied.

Patrick hugged her knee. "Cheer up, Mommy."

Jazz knew she had to start taking more responsibility towards her child, and she really did love him, but she still found it hard to think of herself as a mother. "Patrick, you know what you can do to cheer Mommy up?" she decided, leaning over. "Call me Jazz, like my friends do. You and I will be friends, okay?"

"Does that mean we'll play?"

"Sure, we'll play together all the time, just like friends." She hoped that the early days when she ignored him would fade away in Patrick's young memory. He seemed oblivious to any offense, though, and that was a hopeful sign.

FAMILY REUNION--OF SORTS

Jazz began taking Patrick out herself often, with no accompaniment from her parents. She now thought herself lucky, for she realized that although naive, her son was a good-intentioned boy when he could have been born a malicious troublemaker.

One day on an outing to the park, Jazz was startled at a familiar face, a visage much like Patrick's, with green eyes framed by blond hair, but a face older and battle-worn. The man caught her eye, and she saw him look at her boy. She hoped that he would not see the resemblance; that he would have forgotten her as well. A flicker in his eyes told her that this was not so. "Well, if it ain't Jasmine 'Jazz' Keefe," the man growled pleasantly. "I knew I'd run into some old friends back here."

"How do you know my name?" she asked, trembling.

"Oh, come on, Jazz, you don't think I pulled you into an alley just cause you were the first girl that walked by? I'm not that kind of guy. No, I had my eye on you for a while there--that pretty red hair, those tempting green eyes...It was, I guess, a crush, you might say." He knelt down by Patrick, who hid behind his mother's leg. "I didn't realize a son would result from it."

Jazz caught sight of some acquaintances from church, and taking Patrick forcefully by the arm, dragged him away into their company.

A lot of back doors went unlocked in that day, and Jazz and Mrs. Keefe were startled that evening by Patrick's father walking into the kitchen. "I trailed you home," he explained with a laugh, sounding embarrassed.

"Who's he?" Mrs. Keefe demanded, standing up from the table. She was in her bathrobe and her yellowed red hair was in curlers. She was always crotchety, but especially when barged in on when she looked like this.

"Take it easy, I just wanted to get a closer look at my boy," the man said. "What's his name anyway? Mine is Harry Thompson, in case you're wondering what last name he should have."

"Patrick," Jazz whispered fearfully.

"Patrick, huh?" Harry walked into the living room. "Eh, too sissy. Where is he?"

"Don't cooperate with him," Mrs. Keefe mouthed at her daughter, then followed Harry's path.

Harry mounted the staircase. "He must be up here."

"You come down from there!" Mrs. Keefe demanded.

"Keep it down, lady. I just want to see him." Harry peeked into Jazz's attic room on one side of the staircase, then found Patrick's on the other side. "Hi, kid, I'm your Daddy. Get out from underneath the bed."

A shotgun blast startled him. Mr. Keefe stood on the front door threshold, trying to make his gentle face look as fierce as possible. The weapon clicked as it was lowered into a direct line with Harry. The man raised his hands. "Okay, okay," he agreed, sounding like someone who thought he was being denied his rights. "I'll leave."

Mr. Keefe kept a close watch on Harry until he was out the door. He didn't walk away from the house quickly enough, though, and Mr. Keefe fired another warning shot. Harry bolted away, stumbling once on the gravel driveway before disappearing. Fortunately, his disappearance was for a good long time, but it changed the Keefes' plans about keeping Patrick's origins a secret from him.

THE DOG

When he turned three, his grandparents brought home a cocker spaniel puppy, and Patrick named her Muffin, after a TV show dog. "You're the prettiest puppy in the whole world," Patrick would say to her, and she would lick his nose. He could never manage to get her to obey, but this did not change his feelings towards her. Jazz silently observed the tenderness and affection in his voice as he spoke to his pet, and she knew that underneath his barrier of shyness was a person with a great capacity for loyalty and love. 

START OF SOMETHING BIG

On April 9th, 1955, Patrick went along with his mother and her parents to visit a friend of his grandfather. Mr. and Mrs. Terrance made all the Keefes at home, and gave Patrick some cookies to nibble on. He was distracted by their piano, however, and wandered over, running his fingers silently over the keys.

"You like the old pianoforte, huh?" tow headed Mr. Terrance asked, his eyes twinkling. He was always quick to observe interest, being a veteran piano teacher. Patrick returned to his mother's knee, but Mr. Terrance's friendly manner inspired him with confidence. The man pulled out the bench and placed the boy upon it. He pressed a key in the center. "You see, this is Middle C. Let's see you do that."

Patrick played Middle C, his first note. Then he was shown the D above Middle C, and the B below it. Mr. Terrance was occupied all afternoon and evening showing Patrick the basics, and Patrick interested in learning all the rest of the day.

It was past Patrick's bedtime when the Keefes finally decided to leave. "Wait, listen," Patrick insisted. With one hand pressing one key at a time, he played out a stumbling but familiar basic melody.

"Why, he learned all that in one day?" Mrs. Keefe wondered aloud.

"He should take piano lessons," Mr. Keefe said, winking at his old friend.

Mr. Terrance laughed. "Indeed he should. Kid's got a lot of talent."

SCHOOL DAZE

Seven-year old Patrick did not have many friends in the neighborhood, besides Jazz that is, but he knew she was really his mother. School was no different.

The second grade teacher asked his name. "What?" she asked again, for he had mumbled it.

"Patrick."

"Hat Trick? What kind of name is that?"

"Patrick."

"Oh, Patrick. Speak up, lad. Patrick what?"

Many question and answer sessions in the classroom went like that. He didn't talk to other kids that often because they didn't call on him to answer like the teacher did. Besides, they laughed at him.

"Patrick, what's the smallest coin?" the teacher queried.

"A dime."

The students giggled. The teacher moved on. "Brian, do you know?"

"A **penny**!" the boy named Brian exclaimed emphatically.

Patrick was too shy to point out to them that he had said a dime because even though worth nine more cents, it was indeed of a smaller size than a penny. He let the other kids think that he was stupid.

A COMPANION AT LAST

Patrick did make a friend the next summer. He and his mother were exiting a grocery store when he saw a black woman carrying a heavy bag. She was also on the way out, her pigtailed daughter skipping behind her, eating from a bag of chips. Patrick held open the door for them. "Why, thank you, young man," the woman acknowledged, pleasantly surprised.

"I've got potato chips, I've got potato chips," the girl sang excitedly. She held out the bag to Patrick. "Want some?"

Jazz was putting her sacks of food in the car trunk. "You teach your child some good manners," the other mother said, unlocking the door to the vehicle behind the Keefes'.

"Oh, thank you," Jazz replied. "He's on the shy side, but he's a good boy."

"He's shy, really? Does he have many friends?"

"No, actually I don't know of any in particular."

"He can play with Yolanda if he likes. Right?"

"Sure, Mommy," she replied. She squealed merrily as Patrick tried to stuff too many chips in his mouth at once.

"Careful, dear, you'll choke," Jazz warned. "Oh, I don't understand how he stands all that salty stuff. So, um, where do you live, Mrs...?"

"Ballard. We live in Mansfield."

Patrick performed a classical number on the old piano in the Ballards' house. Yolanda's mustached, grey grandfather listened on. "How long you been playing?"

"About two or three years."

"That sounds like more than that many years worth of playing to me." He brought over some complicated looking sheet music and sat down next to Patrick. "Here, see if you can pick this up." He pounded out an upbeat tune. "Now let's see you do that."

Patrick stared at the sheet a moment, then started to play. He wasn't as smooth with Mr. Ballard's favorite number as Mr. Ballard was himself, but he made it through with only a few slips of the fingers. "Man, that ain't bad for the first time," the old man said. "Hey, this is your first time playing this song, now isn't it?"

"I've never played anything like this before," Patrick told him.

"It's jazz. No connection to your mother. And I'd say the level it's written out for is for people with about six years worth of piano lessons. At least five."

"Grandpa does all the piano playing in our family," Yolanda remarked, watching on from the couch. "I like to sing."

Her older brother, Sam, had been watching from the hallway and now stepped in, guitar in hand. "Yeah, but I bet he can't play this." He plucked the strings rapidly.

"Well, let Sam know," Mr. Ballard told Patrick. "Can you play the guitar?"

"I don't know."

"Good answer," Sam said. "Come over here on the couch; we'll try it."

Sam pointed out to Patrick the strings and the frets, and the boy caught on as quickly as he had with the piano, although his mind memorized things more quickly then his fingers could manage them. The chords were a bit hard for his small fingers at the moment, but before Jazz came to pick him up, he had learned a beginner's melody and played it for her when she came in.

"I like the guitar," Patrick remarked.

"If you do, maybe you can take lessons," Sam encouraged. "I get mine at the Ballards' Music Shop."

"Would you like to visit it?" Jazz asked. Her son nodded bashfully. "Ballards', you said? Any con--"

"No, there is no connection between them and us," Mr. Ballard interrupted. "Just because this is a musical family don't mean anything."

Sam broke in. "Don't listen to Grandpa; he likes to kid people."

"You drop down there sometime," Mr. Ballard insisted. "I wanna see what else he can pick up in no time."

"Well, we're not getting him lessons for everything," Jazz stated. "But I'll think about guitar."

Although Patrick preferred the guitar and the piano, in that order, it became increasingly obvious as time went on that he had an adeptness for almost any instrument. It would often happen the same way. The Keefes would be over at a friend's house, or taking their time at a music store, and Patrick would see an instrument that he hadn't tried before, be it a ukulele, a trumpet, or a violin. He would find a place where he could be alone, and with only help from a book on how to play, or just his ears, he would discover for himself how to elicit the wanted notes, and would amaze everyone present with how much he could learn in a day. The only thing Patrick showed no interest in was the drums. "I don't like playing them cause I can't play a melody," was his reason, although he did not mind playing simply rhythm with his bass guitar.

One thing bothered him. Sometimes when people heard how much he had picked up from a new instrument in a day, they would exclaim, "Why, he must have signed a deal with the devil!" 

"No!" Patrick protested back at them. "I go to church!"

"Patrick's interested in pleasing God," Jazz would have to point out. "But he's an impressionable young boy. I know you're just kidding, but statements like that really disturb him."

Mr. Keefe often brought up his favorite saying at this point. "Talent is a gift of God."

It wasn’t only in regards to music that people innocently brought up the devil. Young Patrick’s cheeks were dimpled, and people would remark, “He’s been kissed by an angel and kissed by a devil.” Patrick had no idea what they meant and shivered under his blankets, afraid a devil was underneath his bed.

He asked his grandmother. “The angel is your mother and the devil is your father,” she said curtly.

He asked his grandfather. “We are all courted by both angels and devils,” he told his grandson thoughtfully. “But remember, the angel is always stronger.”

GROWING UP

At school, Patrick continued to get barely passing grades, through no lack of trying. Math bored him and he couldn't grasp it anyway. He stumbled over words when asked to read aloud. Science was too high concept. He did not show much enthusiasm for sports and physical education, and was mocked or ignored by the more athletic boys. 

Sometimes, one of his grandparents or Jazz would try to tutor him in certain subjects. Mrs. Keefe was the best at math; however, she was frustrated easily with Patrick's ignorance. "I don't know why you don't understand this," she said one night, wringing her hands. "Your mother never had any problems in school. My brother made it into one of the finest universities in the nation. Why are you the only member of this family that can't pick things up?"

"I don't know!" Patrick sobbed. "I'm stupid, I guess."

Mrs. Keefe then realized she was doing more harm than good. "No, no, you're not stupid. You're just a doofus, that's all. You're like some of your cousins on your grandfather's side."

In art, however, Patrick excelled as much as he did in music. He especially liked drawing animals such as puppies and kittens. "Maybe we should get him another dog," Mr. Keefe suggested. "He needs a companion now that Muffin has passed on, and he hasn't been seeing that friend of his."

It was true; Muffin had died after ten years of love and affection, and Patrick and Yolanda had practically lost touch with each other. Patrick still took lessons from a teacher at the Ballards' Music Store, and occasionally he would see Yolanda, Grandpa, Mrs. Ballard, or Sam. Getting together often had proved difficult, though, for his grandmother did not like black people and Yolanda's oldest brother Bill cared no more for whites. The two childhood friends had tried to ignore the bad vibrations they felt when visiting each other's houses, but it was never easy. Yolanda took to hanging out with girls in her neighborhood and from her school, and Patrick just slipped back into a solitary world.

Jazz's parents had born her late in life, and were getting on in years. When Patrick was fourteen, Mrs. Keefe died. Mr. Keefe started thinking about writing up a will. Jazz returned to a state of depression similar to the one she had experienced in her son's early years, but this one only lasted a few weeks. Patrick, who seemed to be getting bolder, sunk back into shyness, despite it having been one of his main ego-bruisers who had died.

A TYPICAL TEASE SESSION

In elementary school, Patrick had been different from the other boys for having a girl as a best friend when most boys thought that females were repulsive. Now in the upper grades, when these same boys were very attracted to girls and wanted to play around with them, Patrick showed a lack of interest in the opposite sex. 

"Don't you ever see a girl that turns your head?" one schoolboy asked, he and a friend curious about this oddity.

"Yeah, sometimes," the strange Patrick replied.

"You know, some stone fox with great knockers," the boy's pal homed in. He shrugged. "And legs."

"I notice some girls but it's usually their faces I notice," Patrick clarified. 

"Not their...?" He gestured at his torso, at the area where a girl's breasts would be.

"I like pretty eyes and hair. And also a girl who's nice, too."

"Do you like any guys?"

"In the same way as girls?"

"Yeah, you one of those--" the first guy began, trailing off and waving his hand in an effeminate way.

"I don't look at guys that way. Just cause I'm not into girls don't mean I'm into guys."

"People will think you are," the second guy remarked. "I'm not sure if I'm convinced myself. Not only do you not like

girls--" 

"I didn't say I didn't like girls."

"But you're not obsessed with them like normal guys are. But you don't like other male things either, like football and stuff. All you ever do is play music and paint cutesy-wutesy animals."

"And your hair's too long," the first guy added. "You have to admit even if you're not a queer, you're a sissy."

"I'm a sissy," Patrick said to avoid argument. "I don't see why it should bother you. It just means more girls for you."

"Look, Bob," the first boy said. "His lips trembling. He's gonna cry."

"Well, what do you expect from a sissy?" Bob asked. "Come on, let's split."

"Yeah, go girl watching," the first kid suggested, emphasizing the last two words for Patrick's sake.

MOVING ON

"Patrick, Grandpa left us a lot of money and I've been thinking of moving," Jazz announced early in 1965. "Would you like to live in another state?"

"Like what?" Patrick asked, coming to sit at the kitchen table.

"Well, pick some you're interested in."

Patrick shrugged.

"You see, we have to finish out this winter alone. All the extra chores--shoveling the snow--there's not as many hands to share the work as there used to be. I want to be gone before next winter."

"Where's there no snow in the winter?" Patrick wondered.

"Well, places like southern California. That's where Hollywood and Los Angeles are. Plus there's theme parks and beaches all year round..."

Patrick shrugged again. "Sounds fine to me. It's up to you."

"You don't mind moving?"

"There's no one to keep me here." He had stopped taking guitar lessons and piano lessons, and simply continued playing on his own.

"Well, I'll start making plans then."

They moved in the summer of 1965 to 1615 El Ciervo Lane, which was in a coastal town called Santa Virginia, a part of the greater Los Angeles area. Besides the beaches, there were ranches, a privately owned art museum, and a stage theater in the area. Clubs were nearby that catered to teens, but Patrick only stepped foot inside of one due to the coercion of a neighborhood girl who tried to befriend him.

"Hey, Vicki, is that your boyfriend or girlfriend?" one crew cut boy asked. Patrick had not grown his hair long to make any statements, but he did not like having it cut often. His mother thought it brought out his eyes, so she let it remain in a mop over his head.

"Ignore him," Vicki, a petite Japanese-American teen, told her neighbor. "That's just Rob. I think your hair's cute. It's a Consorts' style cut. Looks like most of the gang is here tonight. That's Ken, that's Sue, and there's Tom. Over there is Carrie and Judy and Deanne. Gang, this is Patrick. He's my new neighbor."

"Well, is he your boyfriend?" Deanne asked curiously.

"No, we just met when he and his mother moved in. Do you have any girlfriends, Patrick? Anyone you left behind in Massachusetts?"

"No," he replied simply.

"Any dates ever?" Rob teased.

"No."

"Well, he has one tonight," Sue pointed out.

"You picked a real winner, Vicki," Rob remarked cynically.

"You didn't say this was a date!" Patrick protested in Vicki's ear.

"It's not, stop worrying. It's just an introduction to some of the kids around here. Some you may be going to school with."

"So, what do you like to do, Patrick?" Tom asked cheerfully. "Plan on trying out for any sports this year?"

"No, I don't like sports."

"Don't like sports?" Tom was incredulous at this notion.

"You told me you played piano and the guitar," Vicki mentioned. "The band's not here yet. See, they left a piano and a drum set on stage. Why don't you show us what you can do?"

Patrick shuffled his feet and blushed.

"Oh, come on!" Vicki pleaded, and the rest of the gang joined in, insisting that Patrick simply must play at least one little ditty.

In resignation, Patrick climbed on stage and sat down on the stool. "I hope you know some rock'n'roll," Rob said.

"Yeah, I like all kinds of music." He had become interested in rock'n'roll when the teacher at Ballards' had taught him some numbers on the guitar.

"We just like rock'n'roll," Rob made clear. "Don't play us no polkas."

"Well, I like country and western," someone said.

"Shut up, Ken. Let the boy do his stuff."

Patrick flexed his fingers, stalling as he tried to think of what to play. Then he pounded out a hard driving number from the early days of rock and roll. The gang clapped in time. Sue grabbed Tom, and they took to the dance floor. Rob did not join in with keeping the rhythm, but Patrick noticed him nod approvingly and try to force back a smile. At the end of the number, all the kids applauded. "Encore! Encore!" shouted some of them.

Patrick smiled slowly and bashfully. He had been frightened talking to his peers, but he enjoyed performing for them. He mentally selected another song, and put his fingers back to the keyboard.

Patrick, however, felt he had formed no sentimental bond to the gang, and made no effort to keep in touch with them or Vicki, although when he saw her he would give her a greeting. The school year loomed closer, and he would have to face many new kids.

Then Monday, August 23rd, dawned. Patrick, who had grown accustomed to sleeping in late, groaned at the alarm which disturbed him from a dream. Anxiety rushed over him. He clutched his pillow, not wanting to rise, and drifted back to sleep.

Jazz walked into Patrick's room, the only place her son felt free to express himself without fear. Here, seemingly incongruously, rock music personality posters shared the walls with some of Patrick's own paintings of cute, wide-eyed animals. She smiled at the sight of the innocent freckled-faced sleeper. His blond hair, which had never lost its childhood golden hue, was tangled over his eyes. She shook him gently. "Patrick, darling, wake up."

He awoke with a start, realizing what had happened. His mother consoled him, reassuring him that she was not angry. He yawned and blinked his eyes open forcefully. "I wish summer lasted one more month."

"Don't worry, dear, only one more year."

"Yeah," Patrick said, sitting up. "Lots of kids are surprised I'm gonna be a Senior. They thought I would be held back."

"What do they know? You know a lot more than a lot of today's weirdo kids; you just don't let it on."

"But I have no common sense." He stood up and headed out of the bedroom, adding, "Besides, I'm no genius." He bumped into the wall.

"Stop being so down on yourself. You're the best kid a mother could ask for and you better believe it."

"Thanks, Jazz."

"I said you could call me Mom now, especially now that it's just you and me living together." She went into the kitchen. "Well, I'll go fix your breakfast."

Patrick leaned his head against the wall and whimpered in dread. _I’m just a stupid freak who was never even supposed to exist._ He realized he was being irrational, and sighing, tore himself away from the wall. There was no escaping the responsibility of facing the first day of school.

Vicki was in one of his classes. "I'm so excited, Patrick!"

He raised his eyebrows. "About the first day of school?"

"No, not that, though at least it's the last year. But Daddy just told me today I can get horseback riding lessons."

"Where?"

"At the Marshall Ranch. And it's just a few minutes from our neighborhood. Why, I could walk there if I wanted to. Have you been by there yet?"

"No, I haven't heard of it."

"Well, you really ought to go. They have the most beautiful horses. And Mrs. Marshall's really so nice, she wouldn't mind you dropping by. Mr. Marshall pretends to be tough, but he's really a softie. And they have the two most adorable little sons."

"Are you starting today?"

"Oh, no, Wednesday," she answered quickly, then continued her praises. "And they have this cute little English stable boy around our age--he took me out once. He's really sweet and funny. You should stop by there sometime. I'll tell you where it is."

Patrick shrugged. "I like horses, but--" The bell rang, signaling the start of class. He sighed.

"Keep cool," Vicki said, and continued to talk in a low and hurried voice. "First day of school there's usually no assignments. Why don't you stop by there today? Give you something to look forward to. I'll give you directions after class."

"Well--" Patrick began.

The teacher stepped up to the podium. "Class, my name is Mr. Aldrick--"

"Okay," Patrick mouthed to Vicki hurriedly, and turned his attention to the front.

"I'm holding you to that," she insisted.

Mr. Aldrick cleared his throat. "If you two lovebirds wouldn't mind waiting until between classes, if you know what I mean." Vicki rolled her eyes at the teacher's erroneous assumption and glanced sympathetically at the blushing Patrick.


	5. Danny

INCIDENTS OF SOLO LIVES

CHAPTER FOUR: DANNY SELWYN

_Danny is the horse—not the domesticated, obedient kind. The wild kind. The mustang. He only gives his devotion voluntarily—it cannot be forced. Yet there are those who would do anything to break his spirit. But he would sooner die than to be tamed._

THE ANTICIPATION OF ADVENTURE

March 9th, 1949--An ordinarily peaceful section of England was violent in atmosphere that night. The river was high; trees had been knocked down. Andrew Selwyn could take waiting no more, and leaving Martha's mother in charge of his sleeping daughters, braved the windy downpour, cursing his love as he went to rescue her. She herself had left the shelter of their bungalow to find Donna and Debby's old cat. 

Why did he love this would-be adventuress? He should have known better than to get involved with her when he heard the tales of her relatives and ancestors--her family tree, appropriately bearing the surname Quirk, contained many adventurers on both sides--explorers, sailors, archaeologists, missionaries, and anthropologists. As a matter of fact, her father had the unique obituary of being speared down by jungle aborigines while trying to bring them the Gospel. Sweet little brunette Martha, with her heart shaped face, was unfortunately just as much a wild one, considering danger great fun, and bearing two daughters had not mellowed her. 

Andrew remembered times she had gotten them into trouble in the past. Once she wanted to explore castle ruins off the docent's beaten track, dragging nervous Andrew along with her; another time she nearly drowned in a mere which was off limits to swimmers. She was a lovable embarrassment for a school teacher and armchair traveler to have around. He had to admit he did love his wife as much as ever, for although rash and an independent thinker, she was fiercely loyal once one tamed her. 

Andrew took off his rain-pelted glasses, and cast back the soaking blond strands of hair hanging in his eyes. His vision cleared and he found Martha by the pine tree near the chapel, examining the still body of the girls' aged cat. The nearby tree swayed in the storm, as if it had no roots at all. He saw Martha call to him, but could not hear it, for the wind swept her words away. 

He braved his way to her, walking against the wind, flinching at the lightning and thunder. The tree tilted to the point of no return, creaking ominously. Andrew seized Martha and yanked her away. The tree crashed to the ground.

Martha stared at it breathlessly. "You saved me!" she cried finally, holding him. "I could've been pinned under there."

"Or crushed to death!" he chided. He had to yell for her to hear him, but even if it were not for the tumult of the weather, he would have been yelling anyway. "You're a fool to be out on a night like this!" The pet had been a wonderful cat these past years, but it wasn't worth his wife's life. Andrew had warned her that it probably wasn't lost, but had went off to die in peace.

Martha began to re-explain her motives, then stopped and looked at her husband. "Well, if I'm a fool, then what are you?"

"I'm a fool to love you," he replied, but his anger melted. He was more relieved that she was safe than he was angry at her for endangering herself. "Come on, we better get out of the rain." They walked back towards their bungalow.

They sighed with relief as they entered the house. They were soaked, but at least the rain no longer beat upon them, and they could talk softly. "I think we best dry off and drink some hot tea," Andrew suggested, as they entered their bedroom. "We can break the news to Debby and Donna in the morning."

Martha was looking at her husband like he was the greatest hero the world had ever seen. "Yes, we really must get out of these clothes," she said, her enticing tone of voice giving the sentence a double meaning.

Daniel Aidan Selwyn was born approximately nine months later, on the morning of November 19th, 1949, a tiny baby even for a newborn. He looked like Martha, having her heart shaped face. He also had the same brown eyes and brunette hair that his sisters had. His mother felt that this would be her last child, so she took him everywhere--into caves, abandoned mines, and walks in the wild. Donna and Debby preferred to cling to their father's hand when on holiday, but Martha wanted to see everything. To her credit, these caves, mines, and assorted atmospheric places were sanctioned tourist sites, so Danny was not endangered, but from his very infancy, he was getting a taste for the adventure his maternal ancestors had always loved so dearly. All Andrew could do was sit back and watch, hoping he had no relatives like that on his side of the family, but having been raised in an orphanage, he did not know the answer.

BEING FEARFUL CAN BE FUN

What would end up being one of Danny's earliest memories was the weekend trip to the English monastery ruins, which they visited in April '55. All five Selwyns visited it in the broad daylight. Two would return at night--Martha and young Danny, for the guide had explained that the ruins were haunted, and at three in the morning one could hear the monks going to the service. Careful not to wake the others, the two sneaked out of the inn, and walked back in the chilly night air. They sat upon some stones outside the ruins, stones that might have once been part of the walls. 

"Do you hear anything?" Martha asked.

"No," Danny squeaked, shivering and clinging to his mother's arm.

"If you're scared, we can go back," she reassured.

"No, this is fun!" Danny insisted, and he meant it. He liked the thrill.

They heard a noise coming from the monastery. It sounded like someone opening a door, and then came footsteps and low chanting. "Who's that?" Martha wondered. "Do you see anybody?" They could not find anyone. Silence returned to the ruins.

"That was neat!" Danny remarked, holding his mother's hand and skipping beside her as they journeyed back to the inn. 

THE QUIRK CURSE

May 12, 1955.

They had simply been going to London on a day trip, to spend some time alone together. The children were left in the care of Mrs. Quirk, Martha's mother. The driver in the other car must have been from one of those countries where they drove on the right. As Martha gazed numbly at the broken windshield, she wondered why this had happened. She looked at Andrew, slumped over the steering wheel, and she realized that he was dead. She had always tried to get the most out of life, but with her love gone, she couldn't imagine trying to continue. This was the one thing that could break her spirit. 

She remembered the children. No, she must not succumb to the death she felt overtaking her, for they needed her, and might give her happiness. A medic, whom Martha recognized as Dr. Morgan from the village, ran to the motorcar and also saw that nothing could be done from Andrew. The expression in his eyes betrayed that nothing much could be done for her either. 

Martha then heard a voice. It was Andrew's: "Come along, dear, it's time to go." She saw him standing next to Morgan. She looked back at the driver's side, and her husband's broken body still lay there. His living image extended a hand to her. "Really, Martha, you must come."

“I can’t come,” she muttered aloud. “I’m not ready to die.”

“I’m afraid neither of us has a choice.”

She took a deep breath and then clasped his hand. Unseen by those who had yet to die, they walked off together into the countryside.

Nine-year old Debby was often quiet in the following days, but fifteen-year old Donna was cynical. "Our father is dead. Mum is dead, too. I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't something risky she did that caused the accident."

Mrs. Quirk, usually the kind and jolly old grandmother, roughly slapped Donna's cheek. "You mustn't speak that way about her. She wasn't even driving, and the reports say it wasn't Andrew's fault, either."

Thomas Quirk, Martha's brother, was staying in the village for a few days, so that he might comfort his grieving mother. "I think our family is jinxed," he confessed to Donna. "Almost all of us die young, and our loved ones and friends die young, too. Usually it's the hazards of the career we've chosen--you know, soldier, missionary, that sort of thing. This is odd concerning Martha, though, it was just an ordinary motorcar accident." He tapped Donna's shoulder. "Well, just be glad you have the name Selwyn. Perhaps nothing will happen to you."

"I'm going to work at the school," Donna told him. "No foolhardy escapades for me. And I hope none for Debby or Danny, either, though Danny I can't be too sure of. He may only be five, but he’s got all of Mum’s spunk."

SHEEHAN NEIGHBORS

With much help from Donna, Mrs. Quirk looked after the children for the next four years. One of the things the woman and her two young female wards fretted about was Danny's physical growth. He was still tiny, both in height and in girth. The kids in school joked that he would blow away in the wind.

The fellow students that Danny knew best were Aubrey and Emily. Tow-headed Aubrey was the wisecracking son of race car driver Austen Flood, who had bought a bungalow on the outskirts of the village. Emily was the feisty but plain-looking daughter of the innkeeper of the Bride and Groom. Whenever Lord Sheehan's cute, brown-haired nephew, Denis Sheahan, came to the village to visit, she would chase after him, with a pre-teen's insistence of being in love. Denis, annoyed by her, would yell and fuss, but this did not deter her from pursuing her destiny. 

Danny would sometimes play with one or more of his three peers, but he also liked to go off exploring on his own. He was not shy, as Donna worried, for he was not fearful of speaking up. "I'm just independent," young Danny defended, a big word he had learned early because of its appropriateness to his personality.

He liked roaming the private forests and gardens around old Lord Sheehan's elaborately half-timbered manor, at his age not considering if they were private property or not. He loved spotting the deer, and the Greek and Roman folly temples fired his imagination. The fountains were fun to play in, although occasionally he slipped and was bruised or cut, but fortunately, never seriously. One of the reasons he never questioned his trespassing was that he felt somehow that all this was his.

One day in the middle of 1958, he was romping around one of the temples, when the plump and grey-haired housekeeper spotted him. "Shoo, shoo, you little toy boy," she told him, standing by the door. She was many feet from Danny, and he was annoyed at her ruining his fun, so he just stood in the Temple of Athena and looked at her. "Well, if you won't leave, I'm coming after you with the broom!" she warned.

A well-dressed man, neither slim nor fat, walked up behind her. "What is it, Mrs. Blake?" he asked.

"There's a little intruder in your garden, Lord Sheehan," she informed him.

"Oh, really?" He stepped outside and called to Danny. "Come here, lad, stay for tea, why don't you?"

"What?" the boy answered back.

"Invite him in, Lord Sheehan?" the housekeeper wondered.

"Ignore her," he told Danny. "She likes everything just so, don't you, Mrs. Blake?"

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "Well, if you wish to invite him in for tea, my Lord, I guess I'll just go and get it prepared."

"Why don't you. And dig up some crackers or sweets, something he'll enjoy. Come along, lad." Danny hesitantly left the temple and walked towards the side entrance. "What's your name?"

"Danny Selwyn."

"And my name is Lord John Sheehan. You can call me Jack if you wish."

LIFE AT HIS SECOND HOME

Danny finished grooming a horse at the manor's stables, and put her away. Donna, who had been in charge since Mrs. Quirk had passed away earlier in 1960, didn't mind Danny hanging out at the manor as long as he did some honest labor. On Monday, he acted as a guide to visitors to the stately home, and they would remark, "What a darling little boy!" Many of the manor's treasures had been in the Sheehan family for generations, and neither he or Lord Sheehan thought highly of all of them. They were embarrassed by the neo-classical statues revealing parts of the human anatomy that should remain under cover. Jack would drape sheets around them most of the week, but on visiting day, they were unwrapped in case any art purists among the guests should complain. The house was immense, but Danny learned his way around until he knew it as well as any Sheehan ever did. He even knew the secret passageways, but these he did not show the sightseers. He instead guided them to wood-paneled rooms with large portraits and hunting scenes, and to sitting rooms painted in the most delicate of pastels, with fan-vaulted ceilings, antique furniture, and priceless busts. Grand staircases, elaborate hallways...it was a wonder how anyone could live in this museum, but Lord Sheehan managed to make himself at home by not worrying about antiquities too much. Danny usually left at night, but felt like Sheehan Hall was as much a home as his own family's bungalow.

On other days, such as this one, he performed duties as a stable boy, and finishing his chores, he decided to check out the giggling he heard coming from the side of the stables. He discovered his peers Emily and Denis at play. As usual, love-stricken Emily was chasing the protesting object of her affections. "Will you just cool it?" Denis demanded.

 _I know how to help them cool it,_ Danny thought, grabbing the hose he used to bathe the horses. Leaping around the side of the building, he drenched Denis. Lord Sheehan's wet nephew spouted up water, while Emily continued with her incessant giggling. In a split second, she found herself soaking wet. With howls and exclamations, the two joined forces against Danny, who ran for fear of getting his just dessert.

Denis seemed to have forgotten everything by that evening, when he and Danny settled down for a night in the manor. Danny had been invited to stay over to keep his fellow ten-year old company. "You spend more time here than I do," Denis remarked as they sat around the fireplace.

"Well, it's that old boor Donna he's got to get away from," Jack remarked.

"Emily said she's a snob and a know-it-all," Denis observed.

"And Emily doesn't even have to put up with her," Danny said. "But she pays more attention to her new husband than me and Debby."

SPEAKING OF GIRLS...

Danny, thirteen, liked girls, and there were many different types of girls that appealed to him--cute blondes, lovely brunettes, fiery red-heads, and other types of girls as well. What he didn't understand was the way other boys would talk about girls, referring to parts of their anatomy and expressing a desire to lose their virginity to one of them. One day, fifteen-year-old Aubrey Flood gathered all his schoolmates aside, including Danny, and confided to them, "I did it."

"What did you do?" asked Danny.

Aubrey waxed dramatic, and made elaborate gestures with his hands as he said, "I made love to a woman."

The other boys seemed impressed. Danny was sickened, and as Aubrey went into intimate detail, he walked away.

He related this to his family at dinner, which now included Donna's clean cut husband Roger Dunphy, who worked for the airlines. Danny's older relatives agreed that what the unnamed braggart had done was a devious thing. They praised Danny, and then began to talk of marriage in relation to Danny's unknown future.

Danny again felt ill. He liked girls, but he couldn't fathom marrying one.

"Say, Jack, what do you think about girls?" Danny inquired of Lord Sheehan the next day, while they were out horseback riding.

"There's nothing the matter with girls," he replied simply.

Danny told him about how he liked girls, and also about the uncomfortable emotions he felt when sex and marriage were brought up. "There's too many pretty girls out there to settle down with just one," he concluded.

"Oh, certainly, there are many beauties out there in the world, but one day, one comes along that's more special than the rest," Lord Sheehan remarked. "One who just seems to shout that you must love her without her even saying a word."

"But you're not married."

The lord of the manor became sad. "But you forget, I was. In truth, I still am. I fell in love with Victoria, a maid that once worked here, but no one understood our relationship. She had more true class about her than any of my family or their friends had. Still, they believed in class barriers, whereas I never have, and they didn't want us to marry, so we eloped. Then one day, she just disappeared. I've not looked around for a replacement because there is no replacement for her, and we were never divorced. She might still be alive somewhere out there."

Danny remained silent for a moment, then announced, "Well, I'm gonna say right here and now that I'm never getting married."

Lord Sheehan chuckled. "Oh, famous last words, Danny, famous last words."

"Hey, I can control what I do. You don't think I'll suddenly wake up one day and find myself at the altar, do you?"

"Oh no, it's not like that. Of course not. But love overpowers stubbornness."

"I don't see how any girl could do that to me." He sighed. "I'm afraid no one understands what I'm trying to get at."

"Well, Danny, my lad, I've always been considered an eccentric, but I guess this is an area in which we do part company."

Danny could not stay away from flirting with girls, however, and helping them out. Once when in London with Lord Sheehan, who let him roam without close watch, Danny saw a teenage girl of Chinese descent. Ah, girls of foreign and exotic blood, he loved them, too! She was sitting on a bench and crying.

"What's wrong, Miss?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

"Oh, nothing. It's just my boyfriend, that's all. He said he doesn't like me anymore."

"Well, that's rude of him, that is. Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "I don't know."

"Just around the park and back here, that's all. I'll buy you something from one of the vendors. Anything you like. How about it?" He stood up, and offered his hand.

She smiled shyly and wiped away her tears. "Well, all right."

That was Danny’s first date, and it set the standard for all those to follow. He was just a knight in shining armor, hoping to brighten the day of some doleful damsel. As for marrying her—leave that to some prince. As for dishonoring her—he’d rather die.

THE ACHING FOR ADVENTURE

"I want to go to America," Danny remarked to his sisters one evening.

"Not to live?" Donna asked incredulously, looking up from her book.

"Not permanently. But maybe on an exchange student type of deal."

"I've never understood what's so blasted good about America," Donna said, her head back down in the pages.

"I wouldn't mind visiting there," Debby defended.

"America is where rock'n'roll started," Danny explained. "It's where bands like the Tomcats come from."

"I detest the stuff," Donna stated.

"No, it's great!" Debby cried. "They've got some fab looking boys in those bands."

"And it's where all those great cowboy pictures take place," Danny added. 

"I just love cowboys!" Debby squealed. "Their accent--!"

"Oh, you're both being silly," Donna insisted, and as if to mark her words, thunder rang out, and they could all hear the rain fall.

Danny rushed to the window and stared at the windswept downpour, heard the thunder and the howling, and watched the fireworks show of lightning. His heart filled to the bursting point with the thrill of unknown adventure. "Don't you feel it?" he asked his sisters, sounding as if he were elsewhere. "I must go out there."

"Stop sleepwalking," Donna said simply.

"But I'm awake."

"You're dreaming."

Danny stared at the storm a moment longer, then walked quietly out of the parlor into his bedroom. He opened the window and crawled outside. The torrent instantly soaked his clothes, and they stuck to him uncomfortably. How better then to let the rain massage his bare skin. He glanced around, but saw no one. So off with it then--he stripped himself bare; let the downpour pour down on him. He spun around, feeling the wind trying to sweep through his hair while the rain tried to keep it pelted down, taking all of the glorious storm in, blissfully unaware that it was on a night like this that he had been conceived. 

He saw a lightning bolt flash across the sky, and the thunder accompanying it was almost in sync. That meant the lightning could hit the ground anywhere in the village. He considered remaining outside, and braving the electricity, but he had had enough time, so he ventured back inside.

CONSORTS' CONCERT

American rock'n'rollers like the Tomcats and the Waikikis caused Danny to go into ecstasy, but British big beat music was also groovy enough to do the same thing to him, especially that of the Consorts. The Liverpudlian quartet had started out as the Prince Consorts, then shortened their name, and in 1963 became the hottest group in the British Isles. By 1964, their fame had spread throughout the world, including America. Danny grew his hair long, but other than that, he did not seek to imitate them. Although people said he had a strong singing voice, he did not dream of being in a band. He did, however, want to meet the Consorts.

He knew his chance had come when Debby took him along to a Consorts concert. As soon as he heard the scream of the fans, then saw their vast numbers, he lowered his expectations. Debby also started screaming and crying, and Danny wished that there were some way he could tranquilize her. When the show began, he could hardly hear the music above the din of the fans, but he had been warned that it might be like this. This was the time to sneak off, then, when all the fans were distracted. He dodged his way through the zealous girls and occasional boys, but fortunately, most of the teens were in the rows. Sneaking in quietly with a crowd of crew people, he made it backstage. He entered a hallway, and when all was quiet except for the muted screams from the theater, he searched around and came across the dressing room. He went in, and found a haven of peace compared to the show. Freshly inked sheet music lay on the table in front of the mirror. Pete MacFarlane's signature was on it. Danny giggled back his excitement. He had seen the Consorts' next hit before it was even recorded. He better try and remember it so he could gloat when it started wireless airplay. "Don't Even Bother", that was the title. He read the lyrics.

Don't even bother dreaming of me

I won't be tied up, I'm gonna be free

I'm not your type so don't wait awhile

Find another boy who will walk the aisle

Don't even bother dreaming of me

I won't be chained down, I'm gonna be free

You say you'll have me, but I won't have you

You want to marry and put me in your zoo

Don't even bother dreaming of me

I won't be caged up, I'm gonna be free

Danny had no idea how the lyrics would sound set to music, but he liked the anti-marriage stand of the guy in the song. "They're my kind of blokes," he said to himself.

He was so fascinated with the casually left Consort mementos of the room that he was shocked when he was grabbed from behind. "Hello, what have we here?" asked a Liverpudlian voice. The hands spun Danny around, and he found himself staring right into the smirking face of Jimmy Larson.

"Uh, hello," Danny replied nervously, as three other young men entered. Pete, Gene Davison, and Robert "Tom-Tom" Thomas stared at their surprise visitor with ambivalent expressions.

"He's rather big for a mouse," Jimmy remarked. "Small for a boy, but big for a rodent."

"Rather flat-chested for a groupie," Pete added. "All right, chap, I suppose you'll be wanting an autographed photograph, then?"

"I have one," Tom-Tom announced, taking a photo out of his coat pocket, hastily signing it, and handing it to Danny. It was a photo of a big, ugly bulldog. "That's me bird," the drummer explained.

"Oh, he doesn't want that," Jimmy said, yanking the photo out of Danny's hands. He opened up a box in the corner of the room, wherein were stacked dozens of photos. He took the top one out, and lay it on the table, taking the pen resting near Pete's new song. "How do you want it signed, mate?"

"To Debby."

Jimmy looked at him, laughing. "Debby? That's an unusual name for a bloke, now isn't it?"

"So's Tom-Tom," Pete remarked.

"It's for my sister," Danny clarified.

The four musicians looked at each other sympathetically. "Awww, it's for his sister," Jimmy cooed. "He wouldn't sneak in here just for himself."

"He did it for love," Pete observed, then began singing a snatch of a tune. "I--I did it for love.."

"No no no," Jimmy told him. "That won't make it." After handing the photo and the pen to his bandmates, he turned back to Danny. "Did you get a look at this song, though? This'll be big."

Gene was the last to sign the photo, and he turned it over to Danny. "Well, there, you're all set then," Pete observed, opening the dressing room door. "Time to be going. We need some time to ourselves."

"Just the four of us," Jimmy said dreamily. "It'll be lovely."

"Thanks," Danny said, stuffing the photograph under his shirt so no thieving fans would see it. 

As he left, he heard Gene speak up. "Hey, mates, we've got to start making sure our dressing room doors are locked."

Later that year, he saw the Consorts on the big screen, in their film debut, A Day with the Consorts. "Don't Even Bother" wasn't one of the songs, but Danny loved the film, especially the musical numbers when the four friends would play with each other like a litter of puppies. It looked like they were having the time of their lives.

SIMPLE PLEASURES

"Aubrey, you know something?" Danny began, offended beyond endurance. "You make me ill."

Aubrey, now a long-haired mod dresser, reluctantly stopped his steamy schoolyard tale. "Maybe someday you'll realize, Danny, that you haven't lived until you've had sex."

"Haven't lived? I'm sure it was a thrill for you, but there's plenty of other experiences that make me feel alive."

Aubrey yawned. "Such as?"

"Well, there's the feeling you get when listening to a favorite song, and your feet start moving as if the rest of you didn't have a choice. And there's the magic of Christmas that's in the air almost supernaturally. Then there's pursuing an adventure, going on holiday, feeling the breeze in your hair--"

Aubrey yawned again.

"Oh, knock it off, will you?" Danny asked. "All of those can be exciting experiences in themselves. You don't have to rate them against sex and decide if they're not as good, then they're not worth anything. In fact, I bet some of these things are even better."

Aubrey shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Well, if sex numbs you to the rest of life's thrills, I don't want any part of it. Not ever," Danny insisted, and walked away.

Aubrey tailed after him. "Wait, Danny, you're right. There is one other thing in life that's almost as thrilling as sex."

"What's that?" Danny asked hopefully. Watching or playing a football match, perhaps? At least most chaps seemed to get into that as much as girls.

"Getting drunk as a fish," Aubrey said, smirking.

"Having to use liquor to be able to enjoy something is another thing that I don't understand."

"You're a little prude," Aubrey remarked, turning away to join some more understanding peers. He looked back at Danny before he started talking to the others. "You ought to join a monastery."

A SPLENDID OPPORTUNITY

"Danny, you remember the Marshalls who visited here many months ago?" Lord Sheehan asked, standing by the stables.

"The ones who loved the horses so much?" Danny, now 15, inquired as he groomed a bay mare.

"Yes, those are the ones. They've been writing to me, and I told them how set you were on living in America for some time."

"They had something to say about that?"

"Oh, yes. They've offered to put you up for one school year, in exchange for you helping out at their ranch with the horses."

"Everyone thinks I'm so keen on horses. They all think I'm gonna be a jockey because of my height." It seemed that four feet and six inches was as tall as he was ever going to grow.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about them wanting you to be a jockey. They don't race horses. They mostly just give horseback riding lessons to youngsters in the community. I don't think they expect you to teach, though, just act as a stable boy. You do have experience in that, you must remember."

Danny looked up decisively. "Well, I'll tell you what--"

"No, you don't have to answer yet. They'll expect an answer by the end of this month. And you must talk it over with your sisters. If you can go, they'd like you to come in early to mid-August, a week or two before school begins, just to get acquainted." 

"It's going to be a long flight," Debby warned. "Do you have anything to keep you occupied?"

Danny held up a book. "The _English to American Dictionary_. I might as well learn to speak American like a real native. Learn to say _fellas_ instead of _blokes_ , and _around_ instead of _about_."

"Good idea," Debby commended. "Oh, and if you meet any cute cowboy 'fellas', be sure and let me know."

"We'll come over to get you when it's graduation time next June," Donna informed him. "But I don't plan on staying on a holiday, so be ready to leave right after that."

"Yeah, all right," Danny said absent-mindedly, June being so far away as to seem unreal. "Then maybe I'll go see Europe."

"Ooh, me too!" Debby cried. "And Asia and Africa and Australia and South America..."

"Right, and why not Antarctica while you're at it?" Donna asked sarcastically.

Danny awoke to hear the end of "Don't Even Bother," the latest hit from the Consorts, and he mused that it was a good way to start the day. "Yes, those British really know good music when they hear it--or play it," cracked the American DJ. "The Consorts, the group that's destined to never be beaten."

Danny chuckled as he gazed up at the posters of the Consorts that decorated his wood-paneled room, along with other British invasion groups. _Yes, we British rockers are rather good,_ he thought. _Even though_ _all I can play is the kazoo, and I’m off tune even with that._

"Next," the DJ continued as Danny rose. "We will be hearing from an All-American group, the Tomcats, and their number one controversial hit, 'Bad Girl'. But we won't forget those rave-up British groups. Coming soon, a group from Manchester--the Teen Idols."

All right, England! He missed it. He shouldn't. It was exciting here in America and Danny was grateful for the opportunity to see other parts of the world. He was not lonely, he told himself; why should he be? He had already taken out a couple of girls who were horseback riding students at the Marshalls' ranch. As usual, however, these dates meant nothing in the end. _And I wouldn't have it any other way_ , Danny thought.

Today was different; maybe something would happen today, for it was the first day of school. He might meet somebody there, make a new friend. Well, now he would get to see how American schools differed from British schools. He tried to push his anger aside. He had passed his exams this February back in England, so for all practical purposes he was ready to go on to higher education. The Marshalls were sending him to twelfth grade in the local high school. Colleges and universities cost too much money, and Danny wasn't sure how much further he wanted to continue his education anyway. He felt he shouldn't even have to attend school, but all the adults concerned, from Donna to the Marshalls, felt that he shouldn't have too much idle time. In fact, his attending school was the only thing which convinced Donna to let him go. 

Something good better happen today, Danny knew that much as his hands clenched uselessly into fists. He let out a sound that sounded like a sob, scared at his own frustration, frightened that he wasn't instantaneously adaptable. He consoled himself and smoothed over his vulnerability by remembering that such anxieties were normal for travelers, and standard fare for those arriving in new homes. Besides, school was nothing to be happy about anyway, so it wasn't necessarily loneliness that was disturbing him, and he wondered why that notion had popped into his head.

After he dressed, he wandered to the kitchen. Cream blond Jordan, four, greeted him with slurred voice. "Good morning, Danny."

"Good morning, Jordan."

Prematurely grey Colter and his curly haired wife Barbara were also present, as well as Paul, seated in his high chair and drooling his baby food.

"Gruumph," greeted Colter, eating his eggs and bacon as he read the local news.

"Good morning," Danny returned politely. "Good morning, Mrs. Marshall."

"Hello, Danny," she replied cheerfully as she dropped more eggs in the frying pan. "Would you like a couple of fried eggs?"

"Yes, please."

"You didn't say good morning to Paul," Jordan pointed out.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Danny went over to the baby's seat. "Hello there, Paul. How you doing?---Hey, he drooled on me. That's rude, that is."

When Danny had finished his breakfast, he announced, "Well, I better be off to school."

"Do you have to go there?" Jordan asked.

"If I don't want to go back to England, yes."

"Where's England anyway?"

"You've been there before, Jordan," Mrs. Marshall reminded him. "Maybe we'll visit there someday again. Right, dear?"

"Gruummph," Colter replied.

"Oh, you were thinking Paris instead?" Mrs. Marshall interpreted. "Great!"

"Well, I'll be seeing you," Danny said to them. He picked up his book bag.

Colter looked up. "Did you say something, honey?"

This new home setting was nothing amazing, Danny thought as he left. It was pleasant, though, in a tame way. It shouldn't take too long to get used to it, and then he would once again feel wanderlust instead of homesickness.


	6. Duo

CHAPTER FIVE: DUO

I

Monday, August 23rd, 1965

Danny spoke gently as he led a bay mare back to the stables. The soothing sounds of his words pleased her, and she obediently followed him. Actually, Danny was telling her, "You stupid horse! Think you can get away with running off like that? No more watching the telly for you this month, Sunny girl. You're confined to quarters."

As he and "Sunset Divine" approached the stables, the other horses whinnied their greetings. Danny chuckled, but then stopped short. A strange boy, with blond hair, freckles, and long bangs stood in front of the end stall. He was trying to feed Sunny's mother a tuna fish sandwich. "Hey, stop!" Danny cried.

This startled the stranger, who yelped and dropped the sandwich. "You don't feed horses tunny, I mean tuna," Danny scolded.

"Why not?" asked the boy, wearing the most innocent expression Danny had ever seen.

"Cause they're not supposed to eat that kind of stuff. What are you doing here anyway? This is private property."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

"Didn't know that?" Danny shouted. "There's a sign out front that says so. Didn't you see it?"

The boy was hurt. "Sorry," he mumbled. "The only thing I wanted to do was to see the horses. Vicki told me it was okay. I'll be on my way then." He turned away.

He almost looks as if he's about to cry, Danny thought, regretting having been so hard. "Hey, wait a minute!" The boy stopped and turned around. "This may be private property," Danny continued, winking. "But since Vicki said it's okay, I'm sure if you ask permission, you'll be allowed to stay here."

"Okay. I'll try to remember that next time."

"No, not next time, this time! Go ahead, ask me permission."

"You mean it?"

"Yes. Besides, you can't get tickets at the post office."

"Huh?" 

"Never mind. Just ask me."

"May I?"

"Yes, son. You now have permission to visit the Marshall Stables. You're not trespassing anymore. My name is Danny Selwyn; I'll be your guide. I live and work here."

"You live in a stable?"

"No, no, silly. There's a house nearby. Here, come and pet Sunny. Go on, she won't bite. She's a bit stubborn, but she's gentle."

Timidly, Patrick approached the filly, and stroked her neck. Sunset Divine snorted, and Patrick hastily withdrew his hand. Seeing her now standing calmly, he ventured it forth again.

"She likes you, don't you, Sunny girl?" Danny encouraged. "By the way, you never gave me your name."

"Oh, sorry. It's Patrick."

"Patrick what?"

"Patrick Keefe."

"Do you live near here?"

"Oh, yeah. Within walking distance. We just moved here from Massachusetts."

"I just recently moved to California, too. I come from

England."

"Gee, by the sound of your accent, I thought you came from Britain."

"Well, yes, perhaps you don't know this, but England is a country of the United Kingdom. I lived in a village on an estate there."

Patrick did not understand British real estate. "Uh huh," he said with a shrug.

Danny wondered whether it was worth his time to explain things to him. "You see, my family lived in the village and I worked for the lord of the manor--that's a big house--who owns the land the village is on and...Well, never mind. Anyway, I lived there with my sisters, but I practically lived in the manor, too." Danny could tell Patrick was wondering why he did not live with his parents. Looking down at the ground for a moment, he answered before the question was voiced aloud. "You see, my parents died in a motor-car accident when I was five and my grandmother and then my older sister raised us kids and all."

"Oh, that's too bad. My mother raised me without help from my father."

"Did he die?" Danny felt more at ease now.

"No, not that I know of. We don't know where he is actually. He liked to drink a lot and fight and beat up on people."

"Oh, my. It must've been difficult putting up with him."

"No, not really. We've been living in Massachusetts since I was born with him only dropping by once. That was a long, long time ago." Danny had frightened Patrick at first, but now something about his manner caused him to not fear conversation. "Why'd you come to America?"

"Oh, I've got the wanderlust, I guess you could say. I got to stay with the Marshalls because I love horses. I used to be a stable boy in England. A lot of people say I should be a jockey, because I already love horses and because of my height." He sighed. "I don't know, though. Maybe. What would you like to do?"

"I want to be a musician. Maybe write songs, too."

"Really? Groovy, man. What instrument do you play?"

"Guitar. Acoustic, electric, bass. I can play piano as well."

"Wow, man! I wish I could play an instrument."

"I could show you how."

"Could you?"

Patrick smiled mischievously. "If you show me how to ride a horse."

"Deal." Danny shook Patrick's hand. "Tell me, do you dig the Consorts?"

II

The next day, Danny made it over to Patrick's house. "I've come for my first guitar lesson," he explained to Jazz, who looked puzzled.

"Guitar lesson?"

"Yeah, I'm a friend of Patrick's. He said he'd teach me how to play guitar."

Jazz shrugged. "I didn't even know Patrick had a friend. Well, come in."

"We just met yesterday."

"Seems like an awfully big project for Patrick to agree to take on."

"That's all right. I don't expect to play like the Consorts overnight."

Jazz lost her look of befuddlement, and perked up. "Patrick can play better than all of them combined!" Putting down the magazine she was holding, she went into the hallway. "Oh, Patrick, your friend is here!"

"Vicki?" Danny could hear Patrick say. He looked at the publication Jazz had been holding; it was a resource guide to missionary opportunities.

"No, some boy named--" Jazz turned back to Danny, who gave her his name. "A boy named Danny."

"Oh, Danny, yeah, right!" In a moment, Patrick had walked into the living room to greet him. "Uh, hello, Danny."

"Hello, Patrick. Well, let's get cracking, shall we?"

"Oh, okay. Yeah." Danny followed Patrick back into his bedroom. "Those are my paintings," Patrick announced, seeing Danny gaze at his portraits of baby animals. He sounded more like he was apologizing than bragging.

"Oh, you did these? They're very nice."

Patrick sat down on the floor, cradling his acoustic guitar, and Danny joined him on the carpet. It seemed to Danny that Patrick didn't know where to start, so Danny decided for more small talk. "I was going out with this girl the other night. She just recently moved here, too, from Seattle."

"Uh huh," Patrick grunted, turning a knob at the end of the guitar.

Maybe he only responds to direct questions, Danny thought. "Do you know where Seattle is, anyway?"

"America, I think," Patrick said simply. 

"That's what I thought. Anyway, I went out with this girl because, you know, she was cute and perky and all that. But last night, I couldn't believe it, she started talking about sex."

"What?"

"I mean, here we are, still in high school, and only having known each other for a couple of weeks, and she's talking about doing it."

"Doing what?"

"You know, what I just said. But I said, like hold on, I thought we were just having fun here. And she agreed, she said, 'Yeah, let's have some fun.' And I said, by fun I meant good, clean fun like going out to eat, walking in the park, and dancing and all..But I'm not about to have 'fun' with them in THAT sort of way. I wouldn't get a girl in trouble."

Patrick sighed with relief. "Oh, good, for a minute I thought I was going to have to stop hanging around you. I'm not supposed to hang out with boys who are bad and talk about sex all the time."

"Mother's idea?"

"Her idea, and mine as well."

"It's a good idea--" Danny slapped his forehead. "Man, I sound like someone from the older generation. How unhip! But really, it may be 'in' and all that, but that still doesn't make this 'free love' thing right." 

"Yeah," Patrick agreed. "So what the girl do after that?"

"Well, I just took her home, and she was thinking, and she says finally, 'You know, you're right. Some old-fashioned ways do have values.' And I thought maybe she learned better or something. But she says to me that maybe it was wrong for her to make the move as a girl. Maybe she should have let the guy make the first move. And maybe she should have waited past the first date."

"I think she should just wait 'till marriage--if she wants to get married, that is."

"Yeah, not everyone wants to get married. I know I don't."

"You don't?" Patrick began incredulously. 

_Oh no,_ Danny thought. _He won’t be able to understand this. Not even Lord Sheehan does._

Patrick continued, "Neither do I! I'm just not that interested in that birds and the bees stuff."

Danny sat up straight. "I don't ever want to marry because I like all girls too much. Besides, I dare anyone to tame me!" He chuckled at their similarities. "Well, that's groovy, that is."

"I suppose so," Patrick agreed.

"Say, are you going to show me any new notes on that guitar or what?" Danny asked. "Learn some groovy hit songs, even though the two of us are just not 'with-it' at all." He shook his head in mock sympathy. "It's such a pity. We're hopeless."

"Slaves to the older generation," Patrick chimed in, more at ease.

"Never. They got married to, after all, and made love, or there'd be no younger generation. Oh, but we're prudes all right. But prudes with long hair who love rock'n'roll."

"So we can't be all that bad," Patrick said. 

"Or, that good, you should say," Danny corrected.

III

While Danny and Patrick where discovering all that they had in common, Timmy was gloomily staring out his bedroom window, wondering when he would be rescued from his social isolation. 

The phone rang. Mrs. Rowe answered it. "Hey, Timmy, it's some girl named Cindy."

"I'm coming."

Timmy took the phone from his mother and gestured for her to allow him some privacy. "Hello, Cindy? Are you the same Cindy from my math class?"

"Yes, that's me. Look, Timmy, I was kinda off in dreamland today during class and I was wondering if you could like, you know, give me the assignment, please."

"Yeah, sure. Let me look it up. Hold on a second." He ran into his room and checked his assignment list, then returned to the phone and gave it to her.

"Thanks, Timmy."

"No problem. I drift off in class sometimes myself."

"Yeah, I was looking at this guy, man. He was so cute!"

Timmy rolled his eyes, wondering why this girl was talking to him about guys.

"Hey, did you hear about the 'Welcome Back Dance' Saturday night?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's been all over the school."

"Do you have a date?"

"No, I wasn't planning on going anyway."

"Oh, come on, Timmy, it'll be fun."

"Naaa, I don't know, I don't have a date like I said."

"Neither do I! And I was planning on going." Her voice grew pouting. "It's so sad. You're right, those dances are no fun without a date."

"Well, actually, even with a date--"

"Hey, if you don't have a date and I don't have a date, maybe we could go together. The dress is casual, so you don't have to worry about getting a formal suit or anything."

"Well, I don't--"

"Oh, please, Timmy, please!"

Mrs. Rowe came back. "What's she want, Timmy?"

"She wants to know if I can go to the dance tomorrow night with her."

"Well, go! Opportunities like this don't come up often."

Timmy consented. "Okay, Cindy, I'll go. Where do you live?"

He got the directions from her and then said goodbye.

As he headed back to his room, he muttered, "Math assignment, ha. She probably already finished it before she called." As he passed by the den, he saw his mother's athletic boyfriend, Joe Brady, sitting on the armchair. "Whatever happened to the guy asking the girl out?"

"Nothing," Mr. Brady replied. "But with you, girls don't have the patience."

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Rowe added. "They know you're too shy to ask them out."

"Maybe it's not that I'm shy, maybe it's just that more often than not I don't want to."

Mr. Brady turned to Timmy's mother. "Have you had a talk with this kid about the birds and the bees yet?"

"We've discussed it many times, and he just isn't interested."

IV

"Oh, Jim, come on, be reasonable," Caroline protested. "I haven't gotten to see my parents or siblings since our wedding. And they haven't seen the baby."

"Don't you like it here in California?"

"Sure I do, although I miss New Mexico sometimes."

"We are not going to Trotter for Christmas. There's nothing there to see." He grinned. "Not since you left there anyway. However--"

"Well, about we invite my family here then? Just my folks and my four siblings. We're used to sharing rooms, so don't worry about their comfort."

"I'm not worried about their comfort; I'm worried about mine. But that's just what I was about to say. I don't particularly want to go back to Trotter, but it's okay if they come here."

V

The second week of school, Danny and Patrick took to eating lunch at the same table. As Danny joined Patrick one day, a group of All-American teenage boys passed by, a crew-cut one deciding to stop. His accomplices crowded around behind him. "Hey, Patrick, answer this question. What's two plus two?"

"Four," Patrick replied unemotionally.

The gang of boys gasped in amazement. "Wow! He got it right! I tell ya, the boy's a genius."

"So, can you tell us what the square root of thirty-six is?" another boy wondered.

"Um, yes, it's--" Patrick paused. "I forgot."

"Six!" the boys cried out. 

"We learned that a few years ago," the original boy said. "Come on, guys, I'm hungry." Laughing, they went on their way.

"What was that all about?" Danny inquired.

"I couldn't think of it in math class either," Patrick replied. "I've never been good at math--or science, or English, or gym, or history--" He slumped forward onto the table. "--Or anything, I guess."

"What about music and art?" Danny pointed out. "You're good at that, you've got to admit. You better admit."

Patrick merely smiled.

"Ignore those blokes anyway," Danny advised. "If you were good at math, they'd think you were too intellectual and start going on about you being a nerd. I know their kind; you can't win either way with them."

"Danny, what do you do when you get rejected for being, well, you know, different like we are? It must have happened to you, too."

"Oh, all the time. But I just try not to let it get to me. I laugh at it, you know, and just enjoy life. Don't take things too seriously. There's a lot of good out there in the world if you don't concentrate on the bad."

"I try to laugh, too, and not complain," Patrick remarked. "It helps, but other times it doesn't work. Sometimes I have to cry when I'm rejected, but it makes people reject me even more, because I'm a guy and guys aren't supposed to cry. You don't think that's babyish of me, do you?"

"No, not babyish. Innocent, maybe, but not babyish. I wish I could let out my feelings so easily, but I'm afraid I've let the world make me embarrassed about these things."

"So you don't reject me for that?"

"Reject you? No. You're scared of rejection, aren't you?"

"With the way people tease me, you know..."

"Well, Patrick, you can feel free to be yourself around me. I won't reject you."

"Really? Then I can call you my friend, right?"

"I thought I already was your friend!"

"Oh, well, I suppose you were, but we never said anything about it aloud, so I didn't know."

"Well, Patrick, from now on you can officially consider me your friend. All right?"

Patrick smiled. "All right. And you can consider yourself mine."

VI

On the other side of the cafeteria, Timmy sat alone. That is, until blond and bubbly Cindy Boyd bounded up to him. "Hey, Timmy, I haven't seen you since the dance Saturday night."

"Oh, like that was so long ago!" Timmy replied dramatically. "Of course, you didn't, we didn't have school yesterday."

Cindy laughed at the cartoon-like voice that Timmy had put on. "It was fun, though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, once it got going, it was all right."

"Would you like to do it again?"

"What, are they having another dance this Saturday?"

"No, silly, I mean, would you like to go out with me again?"

Timmy squirmed in his seat. "Well, I..guess so, I don't know."

"Oh, don't be shy. My friends and their boyfriends are going to the Burger Haven up the street after school today. We could meet them there and listen to the jukebox and all. We have a lot of fun up there. Meet me in front of the school this afternoon, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." After she had left, Timmy found himself wondering how long he would have to go out with her. She was a nice, cute girl, though, vaguely reminiscent of Janet Dean's TV persona.

VII 

The red horse sped towards the gate. Its blond rider hung on nervously, his hair flying in the artificial wind. Just when it seemed the filly would crash right into the obstacle in her path, Patrick dug his heels into her side and she leaped. She sailed over the gate, knocking off the top pole with her hind hooves. She landed heavily on the other side, shaking up Patrick. He steered her back towards Danny, who stood at the side of the grassy course.

"Better this time," Danny observed. 

"I knocked off the top pole," Patrick said.

"I know. But at least you didn't chicken out at the last minute. Let's try another obstacle." He walked towards a red and white poled gate that was even higher than the last. Patrick moaned and resignedly wheeled Tantrum to her starting point.

Danny moved away and gave his friend the signal to begin. Patrick sighed, made a clicking noise, and Tantrum ran off to her goal. The gate loomed high.

Tantrum had reached the seeming point of no return when Patrick yanked her reins sharply and she veered to the right. He gave another tug at her reins and she stood still.

The boy turned as red as Tantrum when he heard Danny's approaching footsteps. "Patrick--!"

"I know, I know," he mumbled, looking down at the horse's mane.

"Calm down. I'm not angry with you. You know I'm not like that around you. But you've got to stop pulling the horse away at the last minute." He stood in front of the horse and rider, catching Patrick's gaze. "These horses are specially trained to jump over those gates. If they keep getting distracted, they'll unlearn what they've been taught. But these horses know what they're doing, so stop worrying about crashing into the gate."

"All right," Patrick mumbled.

"Cheer up, will ya? This is supposed to be fun. Let's try it again, okay?"

"Fun City," Patrick remarked, and returned to the starting point. It was easy for Danny. He grew up near a stable. Besides that, nothing seemed to scare him, except the thought of going steady. Patrick knew it would be harder for him to muster up the necessary courage. Danny was the best friend the shy boy had ever had, though, and Patrick enjoyed the time they spent together at the ranch. He didn't want to fail him again.

A sense of deja vu came over Patrick as he rode Tantrum back towards the amazingly high gate. Whatever he did, he couldn't pull out this time. The moment felt right and he pressed his heels against Tantrum's side. She flew lowly over the fence, knocking over two poles. She wasn't the only one who was flying. The force of her forelegs landing caused Patrick to rise off the saddle, and by the time the horse was on all fours and trotting away, Patrick was wrapped around her neck, wondering how he got there. He slid off and crashed upon the hard ground. Tantrum whinnied and shook her head as if laughing.

Danny ran up. "You all right?"

Patrick groaned. His neck, back, and side were sore, not to mention his behind. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good." Danny grabbed hold of Tantrum's reins before she could get away. "We're gonna try it one more time."

"No, Danny, please!" Patrick sobbed. "That really scared me."

"I know. That's why you have to get back on."

"What?" Patrick demanded.

Danny shrugged. "If you fall asleep in a snowstorm you never wake up again, and if you fall off a horse and don't get right back on, you'll never go near a horse again." With his free hand, he gestured for Patrick to pick himself up.

He stood, pressing his hand against his back. Danny handed over Tantrum's reins, and silently, Patrick remounted.

"Now what the problem is is you either choose to start the jump too early, or you start it a bit late," Danny advised. "Don't get so scared you don't think straight."

"Right," Patrick said. His friend returned to the side of the course, and gave the signal. Patrick patted Tantrum and headed away once more, thinking that he already knew the worse she could do to him. He knew when was a good time to jump, actually, but in nervous anticipation he tended to start at the wrong time.

It was the right moment. Once more, Patrick pressed the horse's side and she soared over the gate. The top pole was nicked by her hooves. It trembled but remained in place.

Back on the ground, Patrick turned the horse around and looked at the poles. "Cool," he uttered, his jaw dropping.

Danny bounded up. "You did it, man! I knew you could do it."

Patrick grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. It must be a fluke."

"See, you have no confidence in yourself and you're really quite talented."

"Yeah, as an artist and a musician," Patrick agreed.

"That, too. How about now let's say we--"

Patrick broke in before Danny suggested any more obstacles. "--Go trail riding?"

"Yeah, I think you've accomplished enough here for today. I'll go get Sunny and we can head off then." He patted Tantrum as Patrick dismounted. As the two friends and the horse walked back to the stables, Danny said, "It's good work, Patrick. I'm proud of you. Even if you're not proud of yourself."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Patrick remarked. "Now if you can only learn the D7 chord at guitar lessons."

Danny moaned. "Can we skip over that one?"

His friend smiled with inner satisfaction. "No, no, you have to keep doing it until you get it right."

Patrick's mother had invited Danny to stay for dinner after guitar lessons. "Patrick's told me so much about you," she said. "You must be someone awfully special."

"Well, I don't know," Danny began modestly, spooning out some vegetables onto his plate.

"Patrick hasn't had any friends since elementary school," she began uncertainly. "I mean, really **good** ones. Well, he's had friendly acquaintances before that other people would count--you know, casual pals--but not any bosom buddies these past few years."

"Well, I'm never sure when to consider someone a friend," Patrick mentioned. "I mean, like Mom said, a good friend as opposed to just someone I'm friendly with."

"Yeah, I had to specifically state to him that we were officially friends," Danny remembered.

"But he's quite loyal once he knows he has a friend," Jazz continued. "Why, you're all he ever talks about."

"Really?" Danny glanced at Patrick. "What in the world do you find to say?"

"Oh, he finds things to say. He'll repeat something funny you said, or remark on how fun horseback riding was today, or talk about how he admires you. Stuff like that."

"Really?" Danny asked again, never having had anyone feel that close to him, not even good old Lord Sheehan. He wondered if these feelings were dangerous; Patrick might become possessive. Danny wondered about his own feelings.

One thing was for certain, no matter what Patrick had revealed to him about his childhood days, mother and son were close now. "Patrick is the best son a mother could ask for," Jazz remarked later in the dinner conversation.

"Awww, Mom," Patrick blushed.

"Why, he's turned out just about perfect!" she continued.

"Now you're really starting to exaggerate," Patrick remarked.

"So how's guitar lessons going for you? Is Patrick teaching you well?"

"Oh, groovy. Yeah, he's a great musician. I got my own guitar now. We were both playing before you came in."

"Maybe you could form a folk duet."

"Maybe. He can sing American folk songs and I can sing British folk songs. I'm really just learning guitar as a hobby. Most people say I should be a jockey."

"Oh, a disc jockey?"

"No, a horse jockey. I haven't decided yet, though, on what I want to do. I guess I'll just go back to the manor and work there."

"Yeah, and I want to be part of a band," Patrick remarked. "With drums, everything."

"I'd like for you to be a part of a band too, dear," his mother told him. "And I know you have the talent musically, but you're so shy. If you're a part of a band, you should be friends with the other band members 'cause you're going to be working with them constantly. And another thing that worries me is the reputation a lot of musicians have. I don't know if it's true or just rumors, but you know the things said about some of them."

"Yeah, you're right," Patrick agreed, discouraged. "I don't want to be a part of a band with a bunch of guys who do a whole lot of bad things."

"Maybe you can be a session musician," Miss Keefe suggested, not wanting her son's dreams to be completely shattered.

Danny was staying over that evening, and as he and Patrick sat in the latter's room, he asked, "You really want to be in a band, Patrick?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, if you really do, I'll help you find your bandmates. Guys you can really trust and be friends with, too."

"Really?" Patrick smiled. "Thanks, Danny."

Danny also smiled. "No problem."

"Where you going to find them?"

"Don't ask questions like that yet."

"Oh, sorry."

"It's all right...Maybe we'll find them at school. I mean, we don't really know many people there yet. Except the girls I've dated."

"Yeah. The girls," Patrick repeated unenthusiastically.

"Oh, Patrick, come on," Danny said cheerfully. "Those girls are just acquaintances. Someone to share a dance with. Nothing serious ever comes out of our relationships. I never even see any of them more than once anyway." 

Patrick gave a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Danny. I shouldn't be jealous because you're spending time with girls. I mean, that's a completely different thing than friendship."

"Oh, Patrick, it's not unusual for a person to be jealous in a situation like that. That's why I want you to know right now that there's no particular girl that I couldn't do without. As a matter of fact, I like you better than all of them!" And that was saying a lot.

Patrick did not know how to react, but then suddenly looked startled. "Danny, what are we going to when school ends and you have to go back to England?"

"I hadn't thought of that; it being October and all. But you're right. I don't know, Patrick."

Patrick began crying, and his emotional openness frightened Danny. "You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you," the boy said through his tears. "If you realized how much you mean to me..."

Danny grabbed Patrick and squeezed him once. "Don't worry, Patrick. We'll have found your bandmates by then, and you'll have some other friends."

"But what about you? Can't you stay here?"

"England is my home, Patrick. I mean, America's supposed to be the greatest country in the world, I know that, but England is still right up there, too."

"I won't keep you here then," Patrick sobbed.

"Oh, Patrick, will you please stop? You can write me when I move back." 

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But letters just aren't the same."

VIII

"Caroline wants us to come to California?" Mr. Winward demanded at breakfast. The whole family was gathered around the table.

"It'd be nice to get away," Mrs. Winward remarked.

"But it's impractical," the practical Mr. Winward said, additionally muttering, "Get away! I've never 'gotten away' in my life."

"Well, it's a good time to start."

"Can't she come here?"

"That's exactly why she wants us to come there. She can't come here. Jim says no. Don't you want to see Caroline again? And your first grandchild? You can have Eddie run the station while we’re gone. At Christmas time, it'll be nice for us to all be together one last time. By next Christmas, Matt will have grown up, too, and who knows where he'll be. And then Jacob, and then Betsy, and then Wanda Sue in a while."

"Okay, I get the picture. How are we going to get up there, though? Drive all that way?"

"Yeah, Dad," Matt said. "C'mon. I've been wondering for a long time if there actually is land out there called California, or if it was just a rumor the tourists were making up."

"Caroline says there's beaches," Wanda Sue remarked. "And she says Los Angeles is a lot different from Trotter."

"There is nothing wrong with Trotter," Mr. Winward insisted. "It's a nice, peaceful, little town."

"I **like** Trotter," Mrs. Winward told him. "But I like other places, too, and I want to see other places once in awhile." She sighed. "I know Europe will always be just a fantasy, but couldn't you at least take me to California, dear?"

"Yeah, come on, Dad," Matt added. "I'll do the driving for you."

"Yes, but who's going to pay for the gas?"

Matt pointed at him. "You are."

“Why don’t we stock up at home?” Betsy suggested. “We’ve got plenty of gas here.”

"No," her mother said. "Caroline and Jim wanted us to come so badly that they offered to help pay for train tickets. He's got a pretty good job, you know, and he could be moving into a bigger house with that money."

"Ain't a woman's right to goad her husband into doing something," Mr. Winward complained to his wife. "She takes after you."

"So, are we going?" Jacob asked.

"It's the end of October," his father replied simply.

IX

Despite Danny's assurance that Patrick meant more to him than girls, Patrick was sick of Danny's dates. He seemed to go in phases; sometimes he would not see many girls, and other weeks his schedule was crowded with his innocently romantic outings. Danny and Patrick saw each other at school everyday, and at church on Sundays, and they continued to give lessons to one another. Saturdays were getting lonely to Patrick, especially recently, since Danny was distracted by dames during the school week as well. "Spend more time with you?" Danny replied to Patrick's stuttered request. "But we spend all week together!...No, no, no, don't worry, you're not being a nuisance. I enjoy your company, honestly I do. I guess I have been dating a bit too much recently; I'm getting a bit sick of it myself. Tell you what, this upcoming Saturday, we can do whatever you want to."

Patrick showed up late on the afternoon of November sixth. "Glad to see you, Patrick," Danny greeted. "You can't stay too long, though, I've got a date this evening with Caprice."

Patrick was upset. "You promised tonight we could spend some time together."

"But we always spend time together--"

"Just me and you."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. It was tonight, wasn't it?" Danny slapped his forehead. "I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry."

"Well, we can make it another night," Patrick suggested, but his disappointment still showed.

"Maybe I can call her--"

"No, don't stand her up," Patrick said. "That would be too unfair to her."

Danny sighed and thought for a minute. "Tell you what, Patrick. You're coming along with me."

"On your date?" Patrick wondered.

"Sure, why not?"

Patrick shrugged. "Well, because--"

"It's not like I'm gonna propose to her or anything."

"I don't know," Patrick mumbled.

Danny made up Patrick's mind for him. "Come on, let's go."

"Where?"

"On my date." Danny grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him towards the car.

"Oh, yeah, that's right."

They got into the Marshalls' car and headed for Caprice's house. "You're not doing this to get back at me, are you?" Patrick asked.

"What?" Danny cried. "Whatever makes you think that? Us spending some one-on-one time together was my idea anyway."

"One-on-one? What about Caprice?"

"She's just an acquaintance, not a friend. I just thought that this would be a groovy way to accommodate both of you."

"You can be so strange," Patrick remarked, shaking his head in befuddlement.

"So can you."

"Yeah, that's why we're friends, isn't it?"

When the car pulled up, Caprice did not wait for Danny to come to the door, but bounded out. Her dark blond hair was done up in a chignon, and she wore a sparkling white mini-dress. "You look stunning," Danny complimented. 

"Thanks. Who's that?" Caprice wondered, her nose wrinkling up.

"Oh, that's Patrick. You remember him." Danny opened the door for Caprice, and Patrick bashfully waved hello.

"Yeah, I remember him."

"I forgot about plans I made tonight with him, so I have to take him along," Danny explained as he got into the driver's seat.

They took off for the restaurant of the evening.

Caprice made an attempt to be obliging, but it came out sounding sarcastic. "You know, in school they're beginning to refer to the two of you as the Shadows."

Patrick grinned sheepishly, and Danny said, "That's funny, but when I came over from England, I had no idea I'd make a friend so close. I'm not even sure which one of us is the shadow to whom."

A bit guiltily, Patrick asked, "You don't?"

"But you don't always follow each other on dates, do you?" Caprice pointed out.

Patrick shook his head slowly. "No, I think this is the first time for me."

"He's never been on a date before, see," Danny joked. "So I said why don't you come along and see what it's like."

Patrick took the words dryly. "No, you said it was so we could spend more time with each other."

"Oh, never mind, Patrick. I was only making things up."

"MORE time with each other?" Caprice cried.

They entered the club and the three sat at a four seat table. Caprice gazed longingly at cozy two-seaters, complete with starry-eyed dining couples. Danny tried to keep the conversation alive but noticed that Caprice seemed quite discontented.

A rock and roll trio called Espionage took to the stage, and couples took to the dance floor. Caprice perked up. "Come on, Danny, let's go dance."

"All right." Danny rose. "Patrick, hold the fort."

Danny and Caprice entered the crowd of bouncing and twisting young people, and danced the latest fun crazes. Danny did not fully enjoy it, glancing back occasionally at Patrick, who looked lonely as he held his head in his hands. "Excuse me a minute, Caprice."

"What?" she demanded over the din of the music. Seeing Danny exit the dance floor, she followed him off and stood at a distance as he talked to his bandmate. Patrick shook his head and Danny returned to Caprice and to the dance floor.

"He doesn't like to dance," he explained. "I thought that since most of these dances don't require a partner, he could, you know, come on up, but..."

Espionage completed another rocking number, then suddenly changed their pace. The lead singer spoke to the crowd. "All right, boys and girls, it's that time. Time to hold your honey tight and whisper in her ear. Time to slo-o-ow dance."

Caprice, looking forward to this part, was perplexed to see Danny once again head back to the table. "Danny--!" she cried as she ran after him.

"Slow dancing is for fiancées," he told her. "Certainly not for first dates."

Her arms were crossed. "Oh, you're ridiculous."

Their meals arrived shortly, and pre-recorded music replaced Espionage. Over dinner, Patrick and Danny discussed the rock and roll trio's merits. All Caprice could think of to say on this matter was, "I think the bass player was cute."

This seemed to be getting her nowhere, and she was sure Danny had forgotten about her. No problem, it would give her a chance to use that quality in her which could turn clean cut boys into lying thieves--feminine wiles.

Espionage came on to play another set, and Caprice dragged Danny back onto the dance floor. She maneuvered towards the stage, then stood in front of it, winking at the bass player. To emphasize the point, she stood with one hand on her hip and the other in her hair. He noticed her, and stumbled on a chord.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Danny demanded, but it wasn't in anger. In fact, he was sincerely amused by all of this.

"Doesn't that make you jealous?" Caprice tested.

"Oh, it's no big deal. Hey, if you really like him, I may be able to arrange something, me and Patrick doing a bit of guitar playing ourselves."

Caprice had no idea whether he meant that or whether he was merely calling her bluff, but her plan hadn't worked. She left the dance stage, and drew Danny aside in a corner of the club. "Danny, most girls don't have to put up with their date's friends tagging along," she began.

"Patrick's behaving himself," Danny insisted.

"That doesn't matter. A date is a time for a boy and a girl to be alone together."

Danny wandered away from the direct subject. "You know, in Spain, a chaperone always accompanies a boy and a girl on a date."

"This is America! Who cares what they do in Spain? What I'm saying is that you're going to have to drop one or the other of us back home, and you know as well as I do who that should be." She held up her hand to silence Danny. "Don't say anything yet. You think about it while I go powder my nose, okay?" She gave him a quick peck on the lips, batted her eyelashes at him, then walked away to the ladies' room, her stride carefully choreographed to its sexiest effect.

Danny returned to the table and sat next to Patrick. "Girls!" he muttered.

"What's up now?" Patrick asked.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Danny said, and waited for Caprice.

She came back, her hands on her hips, a sly smile on her face. "So, Danny, what'll it be?"

"Would you really like a date with that bass player?" Danny asked.

"Who, me?" Patrick wondered anxiously.

"No, the Espionage chap. I'm sure I can get you one."

"So that's your choice then?" Caprice demanded in disbelief. "Him instead of me?"

"Oh, don't feel bad, Caprice," Danny said. "You see, Patrick's my friend, and I don't really know you all that well. Now why don't you let us bring you home?"

"I'll take a bus," she snapped.

"No, I don't like for a pretty young girl like you to be hanging around at a bus stop on the city streets at night."

"Oh, so now all of the sudden you care about me?"

"Sure. I care to see that any girl makes it home safely."

She sighed in resignation. "All right. I can see now why none of the girls in school dated you more than once."

"Well, that's all I asked them for was one date," Danny countered.

"I should've been suspicious when all I ever saw you with was Patrick instead of a steady girlfriend."

Danny watched Caprice enter her house, then he drove away. "Are you sure that was fair?" Patrick asked.

"The things I do for you," Danny said chipperly.

"But are you sure that was fair to her?"

"Oh, she'll get over it. It's not like we were engaged or anything. Anyway, now we have the rest of the night to spend together like we originally planned. So where would you like to go?"

Danny had proved to him that he had meant it when he said his friend meant more to him than girls. Patrick was more ashamed than ecstatic, and didn't answer the question. "Am I being fair to you?"

"Look, Patrick, you're my best friend. I should spend more time with you than with girls."

"You probably do. I guess it just didn't seem like it to me."

"Maybe so. We can even spend Saturdays together doing something fun if you want."

"Oh, good. Than we don't ever have to be apart. All I want--Are you **sure** you don't mind me being your shadow?"

"No, man. It's not like you want to marry me or anything. We're just friends." As Danny said those last three words, though, he realized that the bond between them was more intense than the ordinary friendship. "Just friends"--it didn't seem to fit. True, they weren't lovers, but neither were they a casual pair of companions, hanging out together to chat about sports and girls. It began to dawn on Danny--a possessive female might want to seduce him into physical intimacy, but Patrick was slowly but surely seducing his soul. "Really, I don't mind, Patrick," Danny continued to reassure, but now he needed reassurance himself.


	7. Trio

CHAPTER SIX: TRIO

I

It was now the beginning of November, and Danny and Patrick's friendship had grown even stronger. Danny felt like his mind was being invaded by a new force, for he secretly began to wonder if he really could choose home over his best friend. Patrick had once even suggested accompanying Danny back home, but the British boy had laughed. Then, he found himself saying, "You know, actually that'd be groovy if you could do that, but it's too impractical." He tried to find bandmates for Patrick, but the people he asked never were right. Some were amoral. Others couldn't imagine being in a rock'n'roll band with that sissy Patrick. Then there were those who were nice, but Patrick just didn't feel confident about them.

As Timmy headed for the lunch line on November 9, he contemplated how nothing was going right at school today, though bad days had been more common than good days for a long time now. In science class, he had tried to liven up a boring experiment by making up a string of silly jokes. The other three students in his group just stared at him. "Timmy, you're weird!" one boy spat.

In English class, they were reading a classic play. Timmy had debated the teacher on how it could be interpreted. Although the teacher thought the discussion enlivening, a preachy female pupil demanded, "Just who do you think you are? The teacher knows better than you what the playwright had in mind! You always have to have your own ideas about everything."

"Timmy, Timmy," the star quarterback had teased before gym. "Shouldn't you be calling yourself Tim by now?"

"I like the sound of Timmy."

"Oh." The athlete shrugged and walked on, muttering, "Wimp!"

To top it off, he had overheard some girls carrying on a conversation that sounded no less raunchy that the talk in the boys' locker room. The girls looked so sweet and angelic; Timmy was disheartened that they didn't live up to their appearances.

Though he was hungry, these gloomy thoughts weighed heavier in his mind than thoughts of eating lunch.

Danny pushed and shoved his way through the mob, who pushed and shoved back, and found Patrick cowering in a corner, holding a tray with both of their meals--the good old mystery meat, mashed potatoes and gravy, and stale rolls. All of this was the usual pattern of the day. As they tried to find their way to a table, talking as they went, Danny suddenly warned, "Look where you're going!"

Too late. Patrick had already knocked another student to the floor and spilled the two meals all over him. "Boy, this just doesn't seem to be my day," Timmy, the student in question, muttered, as gravy dripped out of his hair.

"I'm sorry," Patrick apologized.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Danny asked, stepping forward to lend a hand and stepping on Timmy's heel instead. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"You two are a sorry pair," Timmy observed. He immediately felt badly for saying this, for the two strangers gazed at him, expressions of genuine apology on their faces.

Danny broke the silence. "Man, you look good enough to eat."

Timmy had to laugh, and gave them a friendly and forgiving smile. "It's all right. I should've been more alert." After a moment's thought, he also observed, "You know, it's a good thing the food here is always lukewarm."

"I suppose it is," Danny agreed.

"Will you help me up?" Timmy asked. 

"Oh, sure," Patrick and Danny said. They lifted him back upon his feet. 

"This is so embarrassing," Timmy remarked, walking off to the restroom to clean off. Patrick and Danny followed. "But I suppose it isn't great for you either. Now you don't have any lunch."

"Oh yes we do," Danny told him. "We'll just eat it off you." He reached for Timmy, who pulled away.

"Back off, you cannibal," he warned dramatically, his wispy voice suddenly becoming strong. "No one eats me and gets away with it."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know it was you."

Timmy laughed. "You're weird, man."

"No, my name is Danny Selwyn. This is Patrick Keefe. And if you don't mind my saying so, you're the one that's weird."

"That's right, if you meant that in a complimentary way, that is. My name's Timmy Rowe. But you can call me 'sir'. You owe it to me."

"You sure you aren't mad at us for, you know--?" Patrick asked.

"No, it's okay, really. This cafeteria's so crowded it's a wonder it doesn't happen more often. Maybe I should have just stayed on my usual side. I came over to this side to avoid this girl who's been bugging me for the last month." He opened the door to the restroom. "See you later, guys."

"All right, man," Danny returned.

"'Bye, sir," Patrick added, and he and Danny left.

"Man, maybe I'm particular," Danny began. "But I don't understand this habit of people saying 'see you later' to people they'll probably never talk to again."

"Just the way some people talk, I guess," Patrick said. "Although you're right; I'll doubt he'll ever want to talk to us again. Well, he seemed to like you okay, but he probably won't want to talk to me. Not after what I did to him."

"Well, I stepped on his foot, you know."

"That's nothing compared to spilling food all over him. I'm so embarrassed."

"So was he."

"I know; he said so...Maybe WE should sit on the other side of the cafeteria."

II

The next day, Patrick and Danny returned to their usual table. They were surprised to see Timmy spot them. The boy leaped under the table. "Quick, guys, hide me. That girl's after me. She wants me to take her to see that stupid new movie."

"Yes, sir," Patrick said.

"Hey now, wait a minute," Danny began in mock indignation. "We just met you yesterday and you expect us to hide you?"

"Oh, please!" Timmy begged. "And while I'm under here, do you think you could feed me some table scraps?"

"Now that's going a bit far."

Patrick snuck him a roll. "Thanks, Patrick."

He was surprised that Timmy had remembered his name. "Oh, you're welcome, sir."

"Call me Timmy. I'm not the leader type." He bit into the roll. "These rolls are stale, man."

"They always are, man," Danny pointed out. "You don't expect them to get any fresher, do you? Now, Timmy, will you get out of there and join us at the table? You're madder than I am. And Patrick can tell you I can get downright strange."

"Is that right, Patrick?"

"Oh, yeah."

Timmy crawled out from underneath the table and took a seat. "Okay, as long as you're strange, I feel safe with you. It's these normal people that make me nervous."

"I know what you mean, man," Danny acknowledged. "A lot of these kids are very conformist."

"I hate conformity," Timmy said. "Anyway, I have to. I'm a drummer, and I have to conform to the drummer's rule of hating conformity."

"Oh, so you're a drummer!" Danny exclaimed suggestively.

"Yeah, uh, I'm a drummer. What is the--I mean, what is so special about that?"

"Patrick's a guitarist."

"Oh." He turned to Patrick. "Do the guitarists have a rule about conformity, too?"

"Yeah. Don't conform. It's the only rule. At least that I know of,'cause I don't conform to other guitarists' rules anyway."

"He's a real wild one; I could tell," Timmy observed in a twangy voice. "He's just so loud and noisy."

"Patrick's looking for people to be in his band," Danny explained.

"Oh, really?" Timmy asked in interest. "Who else is in the band?"

"I'm trying to get Danny in--"

"But I don't play anything," Danny interrupted. "I agreed to help him find bandmates, though." 

"Now don't get any ideas just yet," Timmy warned cautiously.

"I don't think I want to join a band at this point."

"Oh, that's all right, then," Patrick said.

"What do you want to do?" Danny asked.

"I think I'd like to do voices for cartoons, maybe. Something clean for the kids...I don't know. Something in the entertainment industry." 

"Well, music's in the entertainment industry," Danny pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but like I said, I don't know. I took up drums to work off my angst." He turned to Patrick. "Can you play pretty good?"

"Oh, he's very good," Danny said. "He's giving me lessons."

"Oh, well, see, I really wouldn't know about a band then. I'm not the world's greatest drummer."

"I don't want the world's greatest drummer," Patrick pointed out. 

"Just someone who can keep a beat, eh?"

"Well, you have to be able to fit certain standards to be in the band, see?" Danny explained. "It takes a certain type of, well, shall we say, a man of conviction?"

"I'm a boy of confusion myself," Timmy told them. 

The bell rang. "They keep shortening lunch period every day," Danny remarked. "By the end of the year we won't even have a lunch period anymore."

Timmy stood up and smiled. "Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow then. Save a roll for me. But only if it's stale."

III

Timmy met them for lunch the next day, as he had said. This time, however, he was quiet, making no jokes, and not eating much. 

"What's the matter, Timmy, why so uptight?" Danny wondered. "Yesterday you seemed so happy."

"Yeah. Yesterday," Timmy intoned.

"Teenage mood swings?" Patrick asked.

"Yeah," Timmy sighed. "Peer pressure. Some people just don't appreciate my humor. I don't get it. They love these kind of people on TV, but in real life, they shun them."

"It's a drag, isn't it?" Danny remarked.

"Don't be sad," Patrick consoled. "We won't shun you."

"Yeah?" Timmy asked hopefully.

"We appreciate a zany sense of humor," Danny said.

"Well, that's good. But still, that's trivial, really. That's hardly the only reason I'm an outcast."

"What else do the kids bug you about?" Danny asked.

"Well, you know, I don't go along with the other guys when they talk about drinking or getting girls in the back seat and all that junk. And I attend church every Sunday like a good little boy. Too goody for them to accept me." He sighed, bowing his head. He looked back up at them. "Aren't you going to say anything, you know, about how effeminate I am or something?"

"Which church do you go to?" Patrick asked simply, as if not hearing the last part. He did not know the meaning of the word _effeminate_ anyway, though he had heard it before, in reference to himself.

"Yeah," Danny chimed in. "Patrick and I have been looking around for a church to attend regularly. The ones we've been to so far didn't like our long hair. We're still kinda new in the area, too--I'm from England, and Patrick's from Massachusetts."

Timmy smiled. "I've lived here all my life. I go to St. Paul's. You know where that is?"

"Hey, yeah, we've passed by that before. Mind if we come along with you Sunday?"

"No, that'll be fine. Love to have you come. Why not come over my house today, after school even?"

"We'd love to," Danny said. "We would love to, wouldn't we, Patrick? I mean, we can skip lessons for one day."

"Sure, man, why not?"

"Great, great," Timmy said. "Hey, maybe you guys aren't too different from me...Nah, you couldn't be. There's plenty of church-goers in the world. I think what's really weird about me is that I took a vow to celibacy. I just don't dig the thought of marriage."

Patrick and Danny glanced at each other, Danny winking. He then smiled mischievously at Timmy. "Man, that is really weird. You're one crazy kid."

Timmy sighed. "I knew you wouldn't understand." He lowered his head to the table.

Danny gestured for Patrick to lean closer, and whispered in his ear. "Looks like we found you a bandmate, whether he likes it or not."

"Come on, you guys, be nice," Timmy pleaded, thinking that they were making scathing comments about him.

"Timmy, we have something we'd like to tell you about us..." Danny began.

Upon hearing Danny's revelation, Timmy at first was in disbelief. Gradually, though not at all grudgingly, he came to believe in Danny's and Patrick's existence, and that like him, they didn't seek marriage. So now they were three. Patrick had realized this instantly, but Timmy and Danny still seemed to need a little prodding. They realized it fully one day when they were hanging out on a promontory overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Timmy stood on the California sea cliff, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, his arms outstretched. Wind blew through his hair.

“Hey, Timmy, why are you posing dramatically?” Danny asked suddenly.

“Yaah! Don’t startle me like that, Danny. We’re on the edge of a dropoff.”

“Really now. Sorry. But why were you--?”

“Soaking in the atmosphere, I guess.”

“Really?”

“I dunno. I feel like something big is coming. Something good. It will change our lives.”

“ _Our_ lives?”

“I, uh, meant my life.”

“No, you didn’t. It will change my life and your life.”

“And Patrick’s,” Timmy added hurriedly.

Patrick just smiled to himself.

Danny smiled, too. “We’re us.”

Timmy stared at him and Patrick an instant. “We are. We’re us. I don’t remember the last time I was able to say that. Or if there even was a last time.” He sat down, facing out to sea. Danny and Patrick settled down beside him. “Maybe _that’s_ the big thing. Maybe it’s already come.”

Danny felt a thrill race through his heart, but also caution. _Patrick, now Timmy, staking claim on you, lad. How will you ever be able to return to England?_

After school, they decided to alternate between going horseback riding, or hanging out at Patrick's or Timmy's house. Patrick and Danny were mystified by their new friend’s mood swings, even though they had all filled each other in on abridged life histories. One day, Timmy would be bouncing off the walls, and the next day, he would hardly talk at all.

Saturday, November 27th, was one of those nights when Timmy seemed despondent. "Timmy, man, what's the matter?" Danny asked. He and Patrick were visiting at the Rowes' house. "What's the matter?"

"You asked that already," Timmy pointed out in a monotonous voice.

"You're an awfully moody person, you know."

"Eh, I don't know," Timmy shrugged. "I just don't feel like being noisy."

"You can tell us what's the matter. We're three of a kind, remember?"

Timmy smiled. "Yeah. Three of a kind. I never even thought I'd be able to say two of a kind, never mind three of a kind."

"So what's the matter?"

Patrick spoke up. "Yeah, Timmy, tell us." 

"What should be the matter? For the first time in a long time, I have some best friends. **Two** best friends. I am very grateful for that."

"Something's still the matter," Danny insisted.

"And I don't know what it is," Timmy confessed. "Maybe I'm so scared that it won't last that I'm not getting the full enjoyment out of it while I have it. Maybe I feel that I don't deserve this, and that if I mess up once, God's punishment will be taking you away from me, back to whatever fantasy world it is you came from. Maybe that's it. What we have here is too good for me."

"Oh, Timmy, that's ridiculous. God's not gonna take us away from you for not being perfect."

"Yeah, I know, man. It is ridiculous. But it won't let go of me."

"What a pity. I wish we could do something, man, but I don't see what we can do. But I'll tell you one thing, Timmy, I won't let you down. Honest." 

"Me, too," Patrick added.

Danny thought a second, then muttered. "Of course, I will be going back to England in June. I didn't think about that."

Timmy groaned. Danny shuffled his feet sheepishly, shrugging apologetically. Before the trio had formed, Danny had just thought of himself and Patrick as a couple of friends. He had thought that it was great that neither of them wanted to get married, but he had not experienced the full realization of how strange a trait that was. With the addition of Timmy, Danny now knew that he and his friends were connected by more than just hanging out together.

Mrs. Rowe's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Timmy, don't be in there too long with your friends. Remember, you have a date with your girlfriend tonight."

"Your girlfriend?" Patrick demanded.

"Aw, man!" Timmy cried. "I forgot! She arranged another date for us tonight at seven and it's--"

"Ten till," Danny filled in.

"Aw, man!" Timmy repeated. "I wish I could just get her off my back without hurting her feelings. Well, I gotta go, guys. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure," Danny said. "But tell me one thing before you leave, will ya? I mean, I know, I've gone out with girls before, but if you don't want to get married, how come you're going steady with that girl, whatever her name is?"

"Cindy? Oh, it isn't my idea, it's hers. She keeps asking me to go out, and man, I hate to hurt people's feelings that way, so I just keep saying yes. I mean, she's a sweet girl, she likes having good, clean fun dancing to the jukebox...One of the last of the innocents. I mean, there've always been bad boys, but it's too bad the good girls are disappearing as well, you know what I mean? I mean, I don't _love_ Cindy, but I do admire that quality of childlike wonder."

Danny agreed, but said, "Man, Timmy, I know you don't want to hurt her feelings, but you can't just go on leading her on like that. She might get the wrong idea about your relationship. And you certainly shouldn't have to put yourself through this. Just tell her no; break it off with her."

"I should, shouldn't I?" Timmy wondered. "Especially now that I want to spend time with you guys. Well, I gotta go just this last time anyway." He turned to leave.

"You take care of yourself, now, you hear?" Danny told him. "Don't be putting yourself on any guilt trips."

"Yeah, take it easy, Timmy," Patrick told him.

"Okay, fellas, I'll try," he agreed. "I'll tell you one thing, though. I may still seem depressed to you guys, but it ain't nowhere as bad as before I met you." He left. 

"I would have hated to see what he was like before," Danny remarked to Patrick. "I wonder if he was always like that."

"He told me he wasn't. But I'm wondering now if he's always GONNA be like that."

"I certainly hope not. No one should have to go through life like that. You said, he wasn't always like that?"

"Yeah. He told me one day after school while we were waiting for you."

"Well, there's hope, then. There always is. What can we do for him, though?"

"Just be with him, I suppose. He likes being with us."

"Yeah, you're right, Patrick. He was lonely before he met us, wasn't he? Well, we better go now. No need for us to stay here if Timmy's not here." As Danny began to head out of the room, he banged into Timmy's drum set. 

"You okay?" Patrick asked.

"Yeah, man." Danny looked back at the set. "You know something? I think I'd like to learn to play the drums."

"Besides guitar?"

"Yeah, both guitar and drums. Think Timmy could teach me?"

"Sure. Be a great way to spend some time with him, at the least."

"Yeah, and help him keep his mind off his problems." He paused. "Did he say Cindy?"

Patrick nodded.

"I wonder if he meant Cindy Boyd. I mentioned you to her before--she moved here from Seattle. No, he couldn't be; he's not that kind. And he said she wasn't that kind."

IV

After Cindy had gotten into the car, Timmy began hesitantly, "You know, I really have got to tell you something--"

"Can't you tell me somewhere else?" she asked. "At least, not in front of my parents' house."

"Oh, all right," Timmy agreed, starting the car and pulling away. "I'll tell you on the way to the restaurant."

"I thought we were going to the movies."

"No, I changed my mind." He couldn't imagine sitting through a entire movie with her after breaking up. Dinner wasn't a much better idea, but at least it didn't take as long.

"Well, since you're feeling spontaneous tonight, why don't we go to this place I know?" Cindy suggested.

"Okay, tell me how to get there."

"Well, keep heading down this road for now. I'll tell you when to turn...You know, Timmy, we've been going out for about a month now--"

"I still have something to tell you."

"Well, I have something to tell you, too."

"What?"

"As I was saying--turn left up here--We've been going for about a month now..."

"I'm not making any commitments, Cindy."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't ask that from you."

"Well, how come you keep asking me to go out with you then?"

"I just take it one date at a time. Turn right here."

They were coming up to a shaded grove. "No, pull over here," Cindy told Timmy, noticing he had not been slowing down any.

Timmy obeyed her without thinking about it. He looked around. "Man, there's nothing here. I thought you had a restaurant in mind."

"I have something to tell you and I want to tell you in private," Cindy stated.

"Well, this is about as private as you can get. What is it?"

"In all the time we've been going out, you haven't once made the move on me."

Timmy raised his eyebrows. "I'm not that kind."

"Why not? You're a boy, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah. I suppose so. Let me get this straight--you want me to be that kind?"

"Sure. All boys want it, you know."

"Want what?"

"Well, you know, to do it with a girl."

"Do what? What does this 'it' mean?"

"You know what it means."

"Yeah, you're right. But now that you made that observation, I have to tell you what I was going to say."

"That you want to do it with me?" Cindy asked hopefully.

"No!" Timmy exclaimed, frustrated. "I was going to tell you I'm not going out with you again. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but this just doesn't mesh with my lifestyle. Now I can take you right home or I can buy you one more meal."

"Gosh," Cindy pouted. "I wait for over a whole month, waiting for you to make the move. So now that I take the initiative to ask, you tell me no and that we're through."

"You should have guessed when I didn't ask you earlier, that I was a good little boy."

"Well, that's downright mean of you! Being a good boy! You're just like that other boy, Danny, I went out with before school started. He was real uptight about his sexuality, too."

"Is that Danny Selwyn you're talking about?"

"Yeah, why? You know him?"

"Just met him, but he's already one of my best friends." 

"Well, that certainly figures. Look, if you're not going to get it on, just take me home."

Timmy started up the car and turned around.

"What a rip-off," Cindy muttered.

"You didn't have to pay any money on these dates," Timmy argued. "Besides, what are you complaining about? You shouldn't have to deal with pregnancy at your age."

"You're weird," she remarked.

"So are you," he returned.

"It's a fact that boys want it," she insisted.

"It's not a fact, it's a generalization. And I've always been a nonconformist."

Timmy had dropped Cindy off and returned home. "What happened?" Mrs. Rowe asked with concern.

Timmy waved it off. "Ah, we broke up."

Timmy's mother ran to him. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry!"

"It's no big deal. Can I use the phone?"

"Sure. Go call some other girl. You don't need that Cindy anyway."

When his mother had gone in the other room, Timmy called the Marshalls' and asked for Danny. "Yeah, Danny. I did it--I broke up with her...No, she was more upset that I wouldn't get in the back seat with her...So, you went out with her before?...Gee, I had no idea she was that kind; like I told you this evening, I thought she was one of the few remaining good girls..." Timmy sighed. "What's this world come to? It really keeps disillusioning me...Well, maybe that's true. Maybe I do have nothing left to be disillusioned about now...You wanna come back over? I'll call Patrick and see if he does, too...What's that? You wanna learn how to play the drums? Gee, man, I don't know...Well, come over and we'll talk about it then." 

V

Timmy at first objected to teaching Danny the drums, insisting that he did not know enough about the drums himself. But after the realization that this was to be more of a social occasion than a learning session, he cheerfully gave in. 

At Danny's first afternoon drum lesson at Timmy's house, Danny noticed that his teacher's mind seemed elsewhere for the moment. "What's up?"

"Huh? Oh, I was just thinking that it's strange that Patrick isn't here."

"Yeah, but don't worry, man. We'll see him tomorrow."

"Is he really like that?"

"Like what?" Danny asked.

"He seems so innocent."

"Yeah, man, ain't it strange? But groovy."

"Yeah, he's a groovy kid, all right,” Timmy continued. “There aren't many like him around. I mean, you're sure he's really like that?"

"Of course I'm sure! I'm his most intimate friend, you know."

"It's just that, I thought that Cindy was, but she wasn't. Innocence is just such a rare quality these days."

"You're telling me!" Danny exclaimed.

"Does he get treated right? I mean, a naive and sensitive boy like him in today's society--the thought of him being alone out there scares me to death. Somebody's got to look out for him."

"You're right. That means I really do have to find him a band before going back to England. Well, there is always his mother."

"He should have someone besides just his mother, though. I doubt she wants to be in the band."

"Yeah, me too."

"Does he mind us doing things together without him? I feel like we're leaving him out. Don't you usually go horseback riding at this time?"

"Yeah, but skipping one day a week isn't a big deal. Besides, Patrick agreed to these drum lessons from the start. And as you know, I still take private guitar lessons from him."

"Oh, yeah. It just seemed different somehow. I mean, you two have known each longer than you've known me."

"Hey, Timmy, stop worrying. I only knew him a few months before you. All I know is that anytime you'd like to see Patrick, just drop over his house. His mom won't care, and you don't have to wait up for me."

"Yeah, all right. But I still want to do things together as a trio."

"Of course, man. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Great. Now let me show you one of the first drum rudiments, the single paradiddle.."

Danny picked it up quickly, as well as the double paradiddle and the triple paradiddle. "Great, I've learned three rudiments today. Let's go to the park."

"I think we should spend more time learning new things."

"Look, I'll practice those paradiddles all this week."

"On what?"

"On a board or something. I certainly don't need a drum set for playing those." He grabbed Timmy's arm. "Come on, the park."

At St. Francis Park, Danny pointed out a kindergarten-aged girl eating an oversized ice cream cone, getting a melted mess all over her face. "Yeah, cute," Timmy agreed.

The cone toppled over and splattered on the sidewalk. The little girl burst into tears. "Yeah, sad," Timmy said.

Danny pointed at a vendor's stand. "That must have been where she bought it." He bounded up to it, Timmy following at his heels. 

"Danny, I don't like ice cream."

"But she does."

"Huh?"

"What did she have? Strawberry, wasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah, it looked like it," Timmy muttered, bewildered. Then he caught on. "Oh, yeah, strawberry. Definitely. That was what she had."

"I'd like a strawberry ice cream cone, please," Danny ordered.

A short ways up the sidewalk, the girl's mother was trying to console her wailing daughter. "These things happen, baby dear."

Danny and Timmy walked up, the former with the ice cream cone in hand. "I'm from the ice cream stand you just visited," Danny told the mother and child. "And we saw that your daughter dropped her ice cream cone before she had a chance to enjoy it, so we'd like to replace it at no extra cost."

"Oh, you didn't have to go to all that trouble," the mother said, as her daughter squealed with renewed delight. "But thanks."

As Danny and Timmy walked away, Danny explained, "I like playing mischievous pranks like that."

"That was **mischievous**?" Timmy demanded. "Oh, you're a real little devil."

Danny laughed, then heard a high school aged couple talking with each other. "Okay, you want mischievous, Timmy? Here's what we'll do--"

Freddie and Beth were sitting on the park bench, Freddie trying to maintain his hand's position on Beth's thigh. "Cut it out!" she kept complaining, but he would laugh and put his hand right back. When he thought no one was looking, he reached up and pinched her breast.

"That does it!" she cried, and walked away. 

Then she ran into Timmy, who was using his experience in drama to appear calm and cool. "Excuse me, ma'am, your date not being a gentleman?"

"No, he's not."

He held out his arm. "Allow me to teach him a lesson."

Beth glanced back at Freddie, and smiling wickedly, took Timmy's arm in a pronounced way.

"Hey, that's my girl!" Freddie shouted after their retreating figures.

Danny popped up. "Hey, that fella steal your girl?"

"Yeah, and I'm gonna--"

"Oh, don't go to any trouble. You know what they say, pretty girls come a dime a dozen. Now there's a real foxy lady over there I could introduce you to."

"Really?"

"Sure, come on." Danny, not certain himself what he was looking for, led him off to a grassy section of the park where a guy was tossing frisbees at his English Bulldog. One flew near them and Danny caught it, handing it to Freddie. He pointed at the dog, who bounded up to them. "This is her. Isn't she lovely? Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

"But she's a dog," Freddie stated obviously.

"Hey, don't hurt her feelings," Danny advised him, and ran off to find Timmy and Beth. He sprinted up to them, and short of breath, panted, "Your boyfriend's got a new date with a dog. If he tries getting fresh with her, she'll bite."

"Great," she said knowingly, smiling in her wicked way. "That'll teach him. Well, nice meeting you, Timmy." Without another word, she pinched his behind and walked away.

"Hey!" Timmy exclaimed indignantly. "Did you see that, Danny? She's a hypocrite. Danny, stop laughing. It's not funny."

"So what you two talk about while I was gone?"

"Oh, I just explained to her what was going on--Will you stop laughing?"

"All right," Danny consented. He sighed happily as he continued down the park's sidewalk. "It's more fun having a partner in crime. Patrick won't go along with my schemes."

"Yeah, I can see why."

VI

Saturday evening, Timmy was alone. That afternoon had been fun; he and his two friends had been to a theme park together. Now it was back to suburbia. 

Then he decided to visit Patrick alone.

When he arrived at the Keefes' house, only Jazz was there. "I sent Patrick down to the store," she explained. "He should be back soon. It's not too long of a walk."

"Oh, well then should I le--?"

"Come in and wait! Certainly. Have a seat on the couch."

Timmy obliged. Miss Keefe asked him about his home and about what he thought of Danny and Patrick. Timmy told her that he just lived with his mother and that Danny and Patrick were cool. "Do you think he'll mind my being here?"

"Certainly not! He'll be thrilled you've come."

"It must be groovy for you having Patrick around all the time."

"Huh? What did you say?"

"I said that it must be cool to be able to spend all this time with Patrick."

"That's what I thought you said. You're growing rather fond of him already, aren't you?"

Timmy shrugged shyly. "Yeah."

"Is it true you play the drums?"

"Yeah, that's right. Couple of years now."

"Ever want to be in a band?"

"Well, I don't know."

"Patrick wants to be in a band."

"Yeah, I know."

"Maybe you could be in a band together."

"Maybe."

"Well, why not?"

"Man, I don't know, I don't know. It's just everybody wants to start a rock band. Everybody, if just for a few days fiddling around in the garage and not really knowing what they're doing. Then they give up and become mechanics or lawyers or something."

"Oh, but Patrick knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, he does. I don't."

"You're teaching Danny, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Well, you must know what you're doing more than you know you do."

At that moment, Patrick walked in with a bag of groceries. Seeing Timmy, his eyes brightened. "Hi, Timmy. What are you doing over here, man?"

"Just thought I'd drop over and see ya," Timmy replied.

"Glad you did."

"See, I told you," Miss Keefe said to Timmy. To Patrick, she said, "Here, let me take that bag for you, son, and thanks. You go talk to Timmy now."

"Okay, Mom. Come on, Timmy, let's go to my room and jam or something."

"But you don't have a drum set," Timmy protested, following him. "And I don't play guitar."

"Oh, that's right. Well, let's listen to records then."

"Yeah, that sounds all right."

In one corner of his room, Patrick had a large easy chair. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s such a big chair doing in your bedroom?” Timmy asked.

“Oh, we got it a thrift store. Mom thought I could use a place to sit and strum guitar to myself.”

“Yeah, beats sitting on the floor, I guess.” Timmy glanced behind the chair. It was like a little corner closet. Patrick had placed some music books and a discarded painting in this space behind the chair.

Patrick took out a worn LP. "You ever listen to this group, man?"

Timmy took the LP in hand. "The Greenwich Village Chorus? Just their hits that they play on the radio. Some of that new folk-rock bit, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

Timmy read the back of the album cover. "The Greenwich Village Chorus featuring 'Let's Live in Love' and eleven other smash hits that never really were smash hits because they never were even on a single but we're calling them that anyway just to get you to buy the album."

"It doesn't say that!" Patrick pointed out.

"It does so say that they're all smash hits."

"Yeah, but it doesn't say all that--"

"Yeah, I know. Well, go ahead, put it on if you want to." Patrick put the LP on and sat down at the foot of the bed. Timmy took his place beside him. They looked at each other. "So, what do you want to talk about?" Patrick asked.

"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"

They looked at each other again.

VII

At this same moment, Mr. and Mrs. Winward actually did have something to talk about as they settled down in bed.

"Well," Mrs. Winward began. "Have you decided yet? I mean, really decided?"

"Why are you asking me now, Carole?"

"You said a couple of weeks ago that you'd have a decision by December, and it's already the fourth."

He gave in. "Oh, all right. We can go. You can tell the kids tomor--"

She did not wait for him to finish. Yelping, she ran out of the room and down the hall. "Hey, kids, get up! I have good news."

Jacob and Matt peered out from one room, and Betsy and Wanda Sue from another. "What is it, mom?" Jacob asked in sleepy concern. "The house on fire?"

"No, boys, we're going to California!" their mother shouted.

"Right now?" Wanda Sue asked.

"No, for Christmas, like we talked about earlier." She giggled hysterically.

"All right!" Matt cried, and his two younger sisters also joined in with cheers.

Jacob and his father stood by and watched them get excited. "Boy, you'd think their lives were going to be changed forever or something," Jacob muttered.

"Only thing that's going to change is their appreciation for home," Mr. Winward said. "Once they get out in the real world and see what it's like, they won't ever want to leave Trotter again."

VIII

Back in California, Timmy, having examined Patrick's paintings as if they were a collection of Renaissance masterpieces, asked if Patrick could sketch him something. Patrick obliged, while continuing to chat with Timmy and listen to the music.

"I don't like this track," Patrick remarked, pointing to the song list on a Rocking Chairs' LP that Timmy was looking at. "It has raunchy lyrics."

"I never really listened to the words," Timmy admitted. "You're not so naïve if you could pick up on that."

Patrick shrugged. "I don't know much, but I know enough to know, I guess."

"Whatever that means," Timmy shrugged.

"This is what I have so far," Patrick said, showing Timmy a cute, cartoonish, frolicsome puppy.

"That's good," Timmy complimented admiringly.

"That's pretty rough, though. I can do it in more detail and make it look like a real dog."

"No, I like it the way it is."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

"Just sign it for me and I'll take it."

"Sure." Patrick wrote his name in a corner of the paper, and tore it out of the sketchbook.

"I'll hang it up on my wall," Timmy promised. "Can you draw a kitten now?" he pleaded, while going to replace the album which was just about to end. "And I'll put on this album by the Juvenile Delinquents."

"Most of their lyrics are clean despite their name," Patrick observed. "Unless there's something in them I'm not reading."

Unknown to them or Jazz, a person from the Keefes' past was in town, having heard about their whereabouts. Now he stood outside their house. 

The doorbell rang and Miss Keefe opened it without thinking. It had been years, but she recognized the visitor immediately. "Harry--!"

Thompson shoved his way into the house. "Old acquaintance of mine said he saw you here." He glanced around, scowling. "Well, well, well. All right place. So, how ya doin', Jazz?"

"Fine," she replied nervously. "Appears you've been brawling lately."

"Yeah..." he said. Suddenly, he smashed his fist against a wall. "Son of a bitch should have known better than to mess with me. But I taught him a lesson! Yes, sir. Nobody messes with Harry Thompson without paying their dues."

In Patrick's room, Harry's surprised son and Timmy huddled by the closed, and now also locked, door. "He's scary," Timmy chattered, listening in. 

"So, what are you doing in California?" Miss Keefe asked.

"Well, I hear my son Patrick is just about grown. My pal told me he's grown up to be a sweet, gentle, and sensitive young man."

"Oh, yes," Jazz doted. "He's an angel."

"That's all I need," Harry complained. "A daughter for a son! Let me see him." Timmy and Patrick could hear footsteps wandering down the hallway, getting closer. "Which one is his room?"

Patrick led Timmy over to his easy chair. "Quick--hide behind here."

Timmy climbed into the cozy space, but asked, "What about you, Patrick?"

"He's my dad," Patrick explained, shutting the door. "I can't hide from him." 

Patrick could hear his father trying all the doors in the hallway, finally testing his. "This one's locked," Harry observed. "It must be his."

"Don't you lay a hand on him," Miss Keefe warned.

"I only want to see him. Come on, Pat, open the damned door! I only want to get a look at ya!"

"O-okay," Patrick agreed, thinking not complying might set his father into a rage.

When Patrick came face to face with Harry, Miss Keefe keeping a watch from behind, all his dad could notice was his long hair. "He even looks like a girl," he complained.

"H-hello, Dad," Patrick greeted, afterwards running out of nice things to say. 

"Well, ain't you got nothin' to say to your old man?" Harry demanded. "Well, that's okay, 'cause you and I are goin' to have a man-to-man talk about you becoming a man. I bet you don't even know how to fight." He shoved Patrick roughly, knocking him to the floor. "Nope, you don't."

"Harry, don't tease the boy," Miss Keefe warned weakly.

"I'm not! This ain't none of your business, Jazz. I'm merely trying to teach my son what he needs to survive in this world before it's too late." He straightened up proudly. "I'm merely acting out of a father's love. Come on, boy, how 'bout me and you goin' a round?"

"Gee, Dad, I'm not into fighting," Patrick explained.

"You ain't one of them peace-lovin', drug addict hippies, are ya?" Harry asked suspiciously. "You certainly got the hair of one." He looked around at the walls of the bedroom. "What is it with all these cutesy animals? Looks like you ain't changed your room decorations since the last time I saw you--and you were three at the time." 

"Patrick painted those himself," Jazz told him. "He's a very talented artist and a musician."

"He's a sissy," Harry remarked. "Come on, boy, back on your feet."

Patrick got up, and Harry swung a fist at him, knocking him back down. This time blood had been drawn. Jazz screamed and Patrick sobbed, but Harry looked at them both with an innocent expression. "He didn't make no move to defend himself. Everyone takes a few knocks before gettin' good. Come on, boy, get back up. Let's try it again."

Hearing Patrick's cries was too much for Timmy. He shoved the chair aside, and scrambled out from his hiding place.

"Come on, quit crying, boy. That's childish--" Harry looked around in amazement at Timmy. "Who the hell are you?"

"Timmy, stay out of this," Patrick warned.

Glad for the distraction, Jazz left to go to the phone.

"Oh, so you're Timmy, whoever you are."

"Yeah," Timmy snapped, feebly attempting to sound tough.

"A child's name. Tim, okay, but Timmy...!"

"I think you better leave now," Timmy told him.

"Hey, listen, kid, no one named Timmy is going to tell me what to do."

"Look, mister," Timmy said firmly. "We're asking you to leave. Patrick doesn't need to learn violence..." 

Harry grabbed him by the collar and stared into his eyes. "I'm giving you one last warning, Timmy, stay out of this! Hell, I don't even know who you are or where in hell you came from." Timmy began whimpering and Harry shoved him away. "Weakling," he remarked, turning back to Patrick and raising his fists.

Timmy shivered, but still did not want to see the novice Patrick beaten up by his more experienced father. He tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Now, listen--"

Harry, already on the offensive, whirled around and knocked him onto the easy chair. He slid to the floor. "I warned you." Harry instantly went back to face Patrick without giving Timmy a second glance. 

He now noticed, however, that Patrick had an angry look in his eyes. "Dad, that was my friend you hit," he seethed, drawing his hands into fists.

"See, I told ya," Harry remarked. "If you try hard enough, you can bring out the fighting spirit in anyone."

Patrick, realizing he was doing exactly what his father wanted him to, put down his fists and rushed over to his fallen companion. "Timmy! Timmy!" he cried, kneeling down beside him. "You all right?" The drummer just groaned. "Oh, Timmy, I'm sorry. You didn't have to do that for me."

The dazed boy managed to whisper a reply. "I love you, Patrick."

"I love you, too, man."

Harry pulled Patrick up forcefully. "You're a damned faggot!"

"No, it's not like that," Patrick explained.

"You know what I do when I get my hand on a faggot?"

"No--"

Suddenly, Harry's grip loosened. He stood there, trying to concentrate on something, a noise he thought he heard. "Sirens."

Jazz called out from the kitchen. "The police station is very nearby. It won't take them long to get here."

"Damn!" Harry dropped Patrick, and ran to the front door. Looking back at Jazz, he threatened, "If those sirens didn't sound so close, I'd whip you all before they got here." He escaped into the night.

IX

"I'm glad you found Timmy for me, Danny," Patrick told Danny Monday at guitar lessons. "He'll be a good bandmate as soon as I convince him to be a bandmate."

"Well, I wanted to find someone for you before you went

back--Hey, I didn't find him for you, we both ran into him, remember?"

"Well, thanks, anyway."

"What are you thanking me for? I didn't do anything."

"Well, at least now you can go back to England without worrying about me."

But this statement worried Danny. He was silent for a moment, then turned to Patrick. "You're not going to forget me, are you?"

Patrick sat up. "Why, no...! Of course not...Well, Timmy is one friend and your..another, and you're, uh, both a part of me in your own individual ways."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Patrick smiled reassuringly, tapping Danny on the cheek. He grew serious. "You won't forget me, either?"

"No, of course not! I'll never forget YOU. You're the first really good buddy I've ever had. My age anyway. What would make you think a thing like that?" He rolled his eyes in realization. "Probably the same thing that made me think you'd forget me."

"It's just that you're always talking about going back to England. And well, that's okay, I have nothing against England, it's just you going back there. Whenever I start talking about the band, you start talking about going back."

Danny took the hint. "But, Patrick, I don't play anything. Besides, I haven't got any choice in the matter, do I?"

Patrick lay his hand on Danny's guitar. "Well, you're learning this, aren't you? And you've taken up drums, too. What for? Just for fun?"

"Well, I, uh, I don't know..."

"Danny, you just turned 16 the 19th. Aren't you old enough to make your own decisions now?"

Danny sighed. "Until I'm 18, I'm under my sister's authority. But it's still a long time till I have to leave. I have until early June."

Patrick sighed as well, lowering his head. "I should've known that when you said no one could tie you down, you meant friends as well as girls. Now I'm all for the girls part, but...No, no, I didn't mean that. I don't want to tie you down."

"I'll go now if you want," Danny whispered, his head in his hands.

"I don't want you to go, Danny," Patrick told him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"No, I meant, from here."

"That's what I meant."

Danny shrugged shyly, still whispering. "I think I better." He got up to leave.

"Danny, please don't. I'm sorry. Really, you can do what you want with your life. I know how it feels."

"I'm sorry, Patrick. Goodbye."

Danny exited Patrick's room, Patrick following at his heels. "Wait, Danny, what's your problem? I'm sorry if anything I said offended you."

Danny smiled weakly at him. "No, Patrick, it isn't you. I just don't feel myself tonight."

"Oh, you feel ill?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Well, go on home then, or to the Marshalls, I guess, and get some rest, okay?" Patrick told him, squeezing his shoulder.

"Okay." He tried to sound nonchalant.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Patrick said.

"Yeah, whatever." Danny left. 

Patrick stood at the front door, watching him go. "I knew I'd scare him away someday," he muttered to himself.

Danny trudged into his room and threw himself down on the bed, then turned over and stared at the ceiling. He really had grown attached to Patrick over these last few months--too attached, and now there was Timmy to think about as well. When a particular girl kept following him around, refusing to let it go at just one date, Danny just had to avoid walking the pathways he knew she took at school. With Lord Sheehan and his sisters, sentiment existed, but he figured that after he grew up and went out on his own, all he owed them was an occasional visit. Actually, he bore little sentiment for Donna, but he tried to keep his obligations to her. Debby and he had had their moments together. Lord Sheehan was often a fun companion. Danny sometimes raved him up to acquaintances, but he was doing just fine living without him. 

What to do about Patrick? Well, Patrick had Timmy now; Danny could try avoiding them, though that would be hard since they knew where he lived. He didn't really want to stop being with them. Patrick had grown so close in just a short time, though, and Timmy was also growing close. By June, they might be so close, they could never bear to see him go back to England. Patrick already felt that way, it seemed.

_They want to own me. Well, at least Patrick does._

_Remember, you said no one will ever own you._

_Yeah, I guess I did_ _¼_ _But I was talking about girls! Admit it, you don’t want to leave Patrick any more than he wants you to leave. You’re taking his friendship for granted, though. Think about it—when you leave him, he’s gone. You won’t be able to go see him every day like you’ve been doing, and talk to him and relate. You’ve never fully taken time to comprehend all that’s in store when you go back home, empty-handed of the friends you made here. Patrick’s right. I am learning guitar and drums. I could be his bandmate. And Timmy’s, too. After all, he’s my partner in crime._

The ongoing battle in his head had ended. The invading force had won out over his stubbornness. Danny sunk into willing submission.

Reborn, he got up and headed back out. "Where you going?" Mrs. Marshall demanded.

"I'm going back over to Patrick's."

"Isn't it getting a bit late?"

"I'll be all right; don't worry."

"Well...?" Mrs. Marshall began worriedly, but Danny had split out the door.

He ran all the way back. Patrick greeted him at the door. He looked as if he had been crying. "What are you doing back here?"

Danny hesitated a second, catching his breath. Finally, he announced, "I'm yours."

"What are you talking about?"

"You heard me. You own me."

Patrick squinted in confusion. "No, I, uh...Come inside, and explain."

Danny and Patrick went back into Patrick's room and reseated themselves on the floor. "I've decided not to fight it anymore," Danny told his friend. "I really didn't want to anyhow. I wasn't destined to be all alone in this world. I'm going to settle down."

"Who is she?" Patrick asked jealously, though not knowing any such girl who could qualify.

"No, no, no! It's not like that. I mean, I'll stay here no matter what happens. I won't leave you and Timmy. I'll be in your band; I'll be your best friend--"

"You don't mean...?" Patrick asked, wide-eyed.

"I'm not going back home," Danny completed. "Wherever you are, that's my home, from now on. I'll write, tell Donna to let me stay here."

"This is what you really want to do now?" Patrick asked, as a matter of precaution. "You're not just doing this for me?"

"For you and for me. I do want to do this," Danny stated firmly. 

"Oh, Danny!" Patrick cried, embracing him. When the two let go, Patrick continued, "You don't know what a load that is off my mind. There's not a day that goes by when I don't think of how fun it is to be with you, but that it won't all last."

"It will now."

"Let's call Timmy and tell him the good news."

"Yeah, let's see if he can stay over here tonight. Ask your mom if it's okay. I better call the Marshalls." 

X

Timmy soon bounded over. He hugged Danny joyfully. "So you've decided to stay for good?"

"Yep," Danny replied cheerfully. 

"That's great!" Timmy then embraced Patrick tightly while Danny watched on. "How ya doin', buddy?" he asked softly.

"Great, Timmy." Patrick sighed happily.

 _I wonder who Patrick loves more now,_ Danny wondered enviously. _Aw, heck, I know Patrick loves me a lot, else he wouldn’t have been so desperate for me to stay. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. But they’ve become so close in such a short matter of time._

"Didja tell Miss Keefe the news yet?" Timmy asked next.

"Oh, yeah, we told her, and she's happy for the two of us," Danny said. "I mean, three of us, I should say." Honest mistake.

Timmy looked at him oddly for a moment, but decided to let it go. He supposed it was something just between Danny and Patrick. _I’m_ _the third wheel around here,_ he thought. _They were together before I met them. I’ll never be as in on this friendship as they are._

"Well, what should we do now?" Danny asked, clapping his hands together emphatically.

"Let's raid the fridge," Patrick suggested, the others agreeing eagerly. "Happy events make me hungry for some reason."

When the three got to the kitchen, Jazz had already set out snacks for them. "How'd you know?" Patrick asked.

"Well, I just figured it's what I would want at a moment like this," she replied. "Don't you boys stay up too late, now. It's a school night, remember?" With that reminder, she left for her bedroom to give the friends privacy.

The trio sat down at the kitchen table, prepared for four, never feeling more together, but at the same time, each feeling like he was the one who least belonged. Patrick felt like the odd man out as Danny and Timmy joked together animatedly like a pair of vaudeville comedians, and Patrick could not think of much to say.

The subject came back around to Danny's staying. "I'm gonna be in the band now," Danny announced to Timmy.

"The band Patrick wants to start?" Timmy asked.

"Yeah, that one. I figure, with Patrick teaching me guitar and you teaching me drums, I can't go wrong."

"I hope I teach you right," Timmy said worriedly. "I'm not a professional."

"I still would like for you to be in the band," Patrick told Timmy.

"Yeah, Timmy, tonight's the night to decide," Danny chimed in. "I'd like for you to be in the band myself."

"You really would?" Timmy asked shyly. Both Patrick and Danny nodded.

"Yeah, Timmy," Danny said. "We're a trio now, remember? Why wouldn't we want you in?"

"I'm sorry, fellas," Timmy apologized. "I guess sometimes I've felt like the third wheel, I mean, you two have known each other longer..."

"You felt like the third wheel!" Danny exclaimed. "Sometimes I've felt like the third wheel!"

"Well, why should you feel like that?" Timmy demanded.

"Fellas, you know, while we're on the subject," Patrick began shyly. "I've felt that way myself."

They looked at each other. "So we're all in this together," Danny concluded.

"Look, we all dig each other, right?" Timmy asked. The others agreed. "Then none of us needs to feel like the outsider."

"Let's all be best friends," Danny decided. "Each of us will officially recognize the other two as his best friends, not one as 'best friend' and the other as 'good friend' or whatever, but we'll all make a commitment to being best friends, the three of us. Deal?" he asked, holding out his hand over the middle of the table.

"Deal," Patrick and Timmy agreed, laying their hands on top of Danny's.

"So you gonna be in the band?" Patrick asked Timmy.

Timmy smiled. "Yeah, I guess so." He shoved Patrick's arm playfully. "Hey, someone's gotta keep an eye out for you, and I'm not sure it can be Danny--he enjoys getting us in trouble."

"All right, you don't have to be my partner in crime," Danny gave in. He looked over at the empty chair. "Who's sitting there?"

"I was kidding, Danny," Timmy clarified. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Hey, I don't know, who's seat is that?"

Patrick shrugged. "Mom's?"

Danny and Timmy looked at each other. "Naaah," Timmy said.

"Maybe there's one more of us out there," Danny remarked.


	8. Quartet

CHAPTER SEVEN: QUARTET 

I

It had been a week now since they had decided to be a band; still they had not gotten together to practice. Patrick brought this up at school lunch. "Okay, let's meet over my house this afternoon," Timmy decided. "Since I have the drum set. You two go and get your guitars and bring 'em over, and we'll see what we can do."

After school, Danny and Patrick rushed to their residences and retrieved their instruments, Patrick bringing his bass instead of his lead guitar. Timmy was waiting on his lawn to greet them, and they entered the Rowe house and Timmy's room. As the amateurs fiddled around, wondering where to begin, they started talking and rambling on about a variety of subjects.

"Hold it, hold it!" Danny said after about a half an hour of conversation. "We still haven't tried playing anything yet."

"But what do we play?" Patrick asked.

"Man, I don't know. Let's go through your records and see if there's any songs we'd like to learn," Danny suggested. They started sampling Timmy's collection, becoming carried away again, hearing a lot of songs they either eagerly or half-heartedly said they would like to learn. Another forty-five minutes passed by; they still hadn't tried to play anything.

Patrick looked at his watch. "I have to be home for supper."

Danny also glanced at his watch. "Yeah, I better be getting back to the ranch, too."

"Well, all right," Timmy agreed. "Why don't you come back over tonight, and we'll try getting down to business then?"

"Not tonight, Timmy," Danny declined. "I'm taking this new girl in school out."

"You can't let girls get in the way of the band, Danny," Timmy warned.

"Yeah, I know." Danny shrugged apologetically. "I'll try to think of convenience next time I arrange for a date, okay?"

"I guess. How 'bout we just try again tomorrow afternoon?"

The three committed to this, and parted for the day.

The next afternoon, they met again for practice. "I have an idea," Patrick announced. "Danny, you try playing that song we've been learning at guitar lessons, and I'll play the bass part. Timmy, just come up with a beat."

They attempted to start a few times, but could not get into sync. Timmy had never played with guitarists before, and was nervous about how to handle himself. "I mean, well, what kind of a beat do you want? Can't you give me any specifics?"

"I don't know anything about the drums, Timmy," Patrick replied. "I've never played a percussion instrument. Danny, don't you have any ideas? You've been taking drum lessons."

"Yeah, but all I learned so far was the first few rudiments. I don't know any rolls or beat patterns or anything like that."

"Just..play anything, Timmy," Patrick said.

"Well...okay," Timmy sighed with hesitation.

"I really don't know what I'm doing," Danny admitted next, feeling annoyingly uncomfortable. "Can't I learn more on the guitar, then we can start practicing together? I'm just so nervous; I can't remember the song when I don't have the transcription in front of me."

"Yeah, I should have thought to brought that," Patrick said.

"I didn't think to memorize the song," Danny said. "Look, fellas, let's just go to the park or something. We still need some work before we can become a band."

II

The Frayne home was filled with the noise and cheer of reunions and first meetings. "Hello, Jaymee, I'm your Aunt Betsy," Matt's sister cooed to her niece.

"So, Trotter change any?" Jim asked Mr. Winward.

"Nope."

"Didn't think so."

The doorbell rang. Jim answered it. "Oh, hello, Vicki. Come on in and meet my family."

"I can't stay too long," Vicki said. "My mother wants to know if she can borrow a cup of sugar."

In the kitchen, Matt and his mother were chatting with Caroline. "You meet anyone celibate while you've been out here?" Matt wondered.

"Oh, Matt, when you gonna stop asking everybody about that?" Mrs. Winward wondered.

"When I find someone who is."

Meanwhile, Jim and Vicki had entered the kitchen to fetch the sugar.

"Matt, trust me, if I had met anyone I knew was celibate, I would have told you," Caroline said.

"Celibate!" Vicki exclaimed.

"Oh, hello, Vicki. Vicki, this is my mother, and my brother Matt."

"Hello," the girl greeted, and the two Winwards returned the welcome.

"Matt's always looking for people who are sworn to celibacy, like monks or something," Caroline explained, embarrassed.

"Yeah, you know anyone?" Matt wondered.

"Actually, I was just gonna say, I have a friend who lives across the street from here, and I don't think he ever wants to get married. He doesn't talk much, though."

"Is he the Keefe boy?" Caroline wondered.

"Yeah."

"I've never met him or his mother," Caroline told her relatives. "They live on this street, but they seem too shy to be neighborly."

"He has two friends, too," Vicki continued. "I think they might be like him, but I'm not sure. One of the boys I dated once, so maybe he's not."

"Matt, don't get any ideas," Mrs. Winward advised.

Matt waved the notion aside. "Ah, I doubt they're celibate. Nobody is." He was discouraged from years of searching. "Except me, of course."

III

Tuesday, December 21st, 1965

When semester finals had come up in school, just before the Christmas holidays, Danny, Patrick, and Timmy had not had much time to practice even if they had wanted to do so. Instead, they studied together. 

Now, the holidays were here, and they had days on end to spend together. The three best friends were happy. They sat out in front of Patrick's house the first day, taking in the cool, refreshing winter air. Patrick had an acoustic guitar in hand, and was strumming on it. "We should go over my house," Timmy suggested. "And try being a band again."

"Oh, well, Timmy," Danny sighed, still not confident in his skills as a musician. "Even if we don't form a music band, we're still a band of friends."

"These things take time," Patrick encouraged, stopping his strumming for a moment. He stopped and looked around curiously. The sounds of a guitar still continued. 

"Hey, that's pretty good, Patrick," Timmy remarked. "No hands."

"Yeah, like in a TV show," Danny added. "Bad synchronization."

"It's coming from across the street," Patrick said. "The house..to the right of the one across from us. See, that dark-haired boy on the porch."

"He looks tall, doesn't he?" Danny observed. "Taller than me anyway."

"It's his long legs," Timmy guessed. "I like his denim jacket."

"Look at how much hair he has!" Patrick exclaimed.

"Have you noticed the length of YOUR hair lately, Patrick?" Timmy asked. "Your bangs are so long you look like a sheepdog."

"I LIKE his hair. And he's got an acoustic guitar just like mine." He was silent for a second, then bravely announced, "I'm going over to talk to him." He rose, guitar in hand, then stood still. "No, I'm too shy."

"Will you go over if we go with you?" Danny asked.

"Well, okay."

Along with Patrick's guitar, they crossed the street and walked up on the porch where Matt Winward was playing. He looked up at them, stopping mid-song. He had a strange feeling about these three that he couldn't describe. "Who are you?" he blurted in a high-strung manner.

"Hello, I'm Danny, this is Timmy, and this is Patrick. We just wanted to say hello."

"Hello," Timmy said. 

"Hello," Patrick added.

"Hey," Matt replied.

"Hey what?" Patrick wondered nervously.

"Oh, that's just how I say hello," Matt explained.

"Well, I, uh..." Patrick began, looking as if he were about to turn away.

Timmy grabbed him before he could go anywhere. "Take it easy, Patrick, he's not going to bite ya." To Matt, he explained, "Patrick's a bit shy, you see. You won't bite him, will ya?"

"No, of course not," Matt reassured, his paranoia lessening considerably. "I'm not the most outgoing type myself. By the way, my name's Matt Winward."

"See, Patrick? It's Matt Winward. He wouldn't bite anyone."

"Are you new around here, Matt?" Danny asked.

"Well, actually, my family's on vacation from New Mexico. My sister Caroline got married a while back and moved out here with her husband, and she wanted to see us for one last Christmas together, and we wanted to see the new baby."

"Oh, how nice."

Patrick, changing the subject, pointed at Matt's acoustic. "I play guitar, too."

Matt glanced at the instrument Patrick had carried over. "So I see."

"It's just like yours."

Matt examined it further. "Yeah, it is. Same make. Except yours is in better condition. Looks a lot newer, too."

"Patrick's very good at playing guitar," Danny told Matt. "He's teaching me how to play. I'm also learning drums from Timmy."

Offhandedly, Matt joked, "We all ought to form a band."

"Hey, yeah, right!" Danny exclaimed. "Well, WE were going to form a band."

"We still are," Patrick told his old friend firmly.

"A rock'n'roll band?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, a rock'n'roll band," Timmy broke in. "What kind of music do you like, Matt?"

"Oh, I like rock'n'roll, too. That's what I've been learning mostly."

"The problem is I'm not too good at either the guitar or drums yet," Danny explained.

"Well, why don't you try the maracas or the tambourine in the meantime?" Matt suggested. "You have to be able to keep a beat and all, but it's a lot simpler."

"That's an idea. Where can I get one?"

"Well, there's a great music store in Santa Fe--"

"Too far."

"Isn't that just down the coast?" Patrick wondered.

"No, that's San Diego," Timmy corrected. "Hey, Danny, I've seen percussion instruments down at Concordia. Why don't we stop by there this evening?"

Something stirred in Matt's memory, something some neighbor of his sister's had been talking about the other day. "Can I come with you?" he asked them. "I wanna take a look around. The Concordia's a music store, I'm assuming."

"Yeah, it's where I got my drum lessons. Sure you can come."

"Hey, uh, Patrick, is that it?" Matt began. Patrick nodded. "Can you play me something on that guitar of yours?"

"Well, what do you want to hear?" the boy asked hesitantly.

"Anything. Whatever you feel like."

Patrick smiled sheepishly at Danny and Timmy, shrugging shyly and not knowing where to begin.

"Aw, come on, don't be nervous," Matt encouraged. "You play me something, and then I'll play something for you. I won't laugh at you or nothing. But you can say whatever you want to about my playing."

"Play that song you were going to have us play the second day of practice," Timmy suggested.

"You mean, 'You're for Me'?"

"Hey, I know that one!" Matt exclaimed.

"Yeah, play that one," Danny agreed. "And Timmy and I will sing."

"We will?" Timmy asked.

"Sure."

"I'll sing, too, if I remember the words," Matt told them. "Well, go on, Patrick."

Patrick took a deep breath, then began, stumbling at first, but soon playing smoothly. Timmy and Danny came in with the words:

When I first met you/ I knew you were for me

We're so much alike/ And we'll be so happy

Matt joined in with them on the chorus:

You're for me/ And I'm for you

It's so groovy/ That we make two

They went on to the next verse:

It's a miracle/ We found one another

Thank God each day/ We won't leave each other

Even Patrick joined in repeating the chorus. 

"We like that song, Matt, 'cause we relate to the lyrics," Danny explained. "The three of us are very much alike."

"And it is like a miracle that we found each other," Timmy chimed in. "Because what we share is just so rare...Hey, that rhymes, I ought to put it in a song somewhere."

"Cool, man," Matt remarked. "I'm kind of an odd person myself, and I often wish I had some soul mates. Seriously, guys, that wasn't half bad. You really should form a band."

"I know," Patrick said.

"Oh, I guess we will," Danny consented. "But so far, we haven't known where to start."

"No leadership," Timmy decided. "I'm really a confused, indecisive type."

"Aw, Timmy, don't put yourself down," Patrick chided. "But that goes for me, too. I could never be a leader."

Matt looked Danny in the eye. "Well, what about you?"

"Man, I know the least about music amongst all of us," Danny replied.

"Well, somebody's got to be leader if you're ever gonna get anywhere as a band," Matt told them. "Now which of you knows the MOST about music?"

"Patrick does," Danny replied.

"But I'm not the leader type," Patrick insisted.

"If there's anybody among the three of us fit to be bandleader, it's Danny," Timmy remarked. "He's got more, oh, I don't know...social skills."

"Social skills?" Matt repeated, sounding bemused.

"So I can talk to people," Danny said. "But I still don't know much about music. I'm really not interested in the position anyway."

Timmy sighed, covering his face with his hands. "We're lost, we're lost, we're lost!"

Silence followed as Matt stared at the three confused would-be bandmates.

Finally, Patrick spoke up. "Hey, Matt, weren't you gonna play something, too?"

"Oh, yeah! I forgot! Let's see--" He started to play. He played well, entrancing Timmy, Patrick, and Danny, but it was not a number the three listeners recognized.

"That was good, Matt," Danny complimented at the end. "What was the name of that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?" Patrick asked.

Matt shrugged. "I don't," he repeated. "I just started improvising along the way."

"Hey, that's pretty good," his fellow guitarist said. "I bet you know more about music than all three of us combined."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"I doubt he knows how to play as many instruments as you do," Timmy remarked to Patrick.

"Yeah, all I play is guitar," Matt admitted.

"Man, if you were living here, Matt," Danny began. "And we knew you a little bit better, I'd say you should be our bandleader."

"Well, it's true, I'm only here for two weeks," Matt replied. "But I tell you what--If you guys trust me enough, 'cause I ain't got no experience either--But I'll be your bandleader for two weeks and get you started. Hopefully. Then after that, maybe you'll be all right on your own." He looked at them, waiting for their answer.

The three glanced at each other, and Danny decided, "All right, Matt, deal. For a couple of weeks, what have we got to lose?"

That evening, the four of them went to the Concordia Music Center. Matt pointed out maracas and a tambourine to Danny, which he bought, and both Matt and Patrick bought guitar straps for themselves. "Where do you fellas usually rehearse?" Matt asked.

"What do you mean, usually?" Timmy asked. "But the two times we did try was over at my house."

"Okay, let's go over there now, and try something."

The trio was shocked. " **Now**?"

"Yes, **now**. Patrick, you told me you know the bass part to that song you played." Patrick nodded. "And I also know that song. So I'll play lead guitar, you'll play bass, and Timmy, you just keep up a beat."

"What about me?" Danny demanded.

"For now, you're lead singer."

They marched to the Rowe house. Timmy played different beats for Matt, and he picked one for Timmy to keep up during the song. Matt also worked with Danny one-on-one, helping him find the right note to start on, and how often he should shake the maracas and tambourine. He made sure Patrick knew the bass part well, which Patrick did, having been optimistically working on it for the last couple of weeks. Then Patrick and Matt played the guitar parts jointly. Matt also had Danny and Timmy try to keep up their rhythms simultaneously for a few minutes. By the end of the night, the four of them performed the song together once.

"Well, it was rough," Matt analyzed. "But of course it will be. But for the next couple of weeks, we're gonna work on this song until we've got it perfect, and people won't be able to tell us apart from a famous professional band. Maybe we'll get it down pat sooner than that and learn some other songs."

Tired but feeling good about their accomplishment, the four parted for the night. Matt accompanied Patrick on the way back to El Ciervo Lane.

"How long you been playing?" Matt asked.

"As long as I can remember. No, actually, I think I was in second or third grade. How long you been playing?"

"Seems like forever. I think I was seven. I had this cousin who taught me. We used to be really close, but then he fell in love. Got too old for his little cousin."

"Too bad. I took lessons from this family that was friends of ours."

"You know, I'd forgotten what it's like to play with another guitarist. I really enjoyed it. Made me realize I miss it."

"I liked it, too."

"We got up a good chemistry playing together. That's how it should be. Guitarists in a band have to be in sync with each other."

"That's cool. I wonder why, though."

"Why what?"

"Why we have a good chemistry."

Matt shrugged. "Who knows." A few more steps and they were between the Keefes' home and the Fraynes' house. "Well, I'm glad you and your friends dropped by. See you tomorrow, all right?"

"Okay. Good night, Matt."

IV

The four met again late next morning. "After we practice," Danny suggested. "Afterwards, mind you--Let's go over the Marshall Ranch and go horseback riding. How'd you like that, Matt?"

"Sounds fun," Matt agreed. "I rode horses at my cousins' house. Zelda, one of my cousins, she likes to ride them English style, you know, over fences."

"Groovy!" Danny cried. "So do you know how to ride a horse over a gate?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"But we're going trail riding, Danny," Timmy insisted.

The English boy chuckled. "See, I taught both of them how to jump horses. Scared them to death but they learned."

They got down to business and played the song a few times through this time. "Hey, it's getting to sound groovy!" Timmy observed. "You're doing us good, Matt."

"I just hope we can keep this up after he's gone," Patrick remarked.

"Oh, sure you can," Matt said. "Well, let's go see them horses now."

Vicki was at the stables when the four boys arrived. "Hey, Vicki, I haven't seen you around here for awhile," Danny remarked.

"Well, you're always taking guitar lessons from Patrick when I have my lesson." She looked at Matt. "Oh, I see you've met them."

"So these are the boys you were talking about," he said.

"Yeah. Are they like what we thought they might be?"

"When did you two meet?" Danny asked. "And what were you saying about us?"

"The first day we got here," Matt replied. "And we got to talking about you because, well, er..." It would be embarrassing to bring up the subject if they ended up not being celibate.

"We were wondering about you fellas and girls," Vicki told them, shoving Patrick teasingly.

"You mean, how come you never see us with them?" Timmy wondered. "Except for Danny, of course."

"Yeah, well, that's it," Matt said.

"We're not into that sort of thing," Timmy explained.

"Me neither," Danny chimed in. "Dates are just a fun thing. I don't intend to settle down."

"We're three of a kind," Patrick remarked.

"No, you're not," Matt stated. Timmy, Danny, and Patrick stared at him, offended. "You're four of a kind."

Again, they looked at him, this time in wonder. He smiled shyly back at them. 

When they brought the horses back to the stable after riding, Danny tried doing the proper grooming and washing, but Matt, Timmy, and Patrick had begun a giddy game of rough-and-tumble, started by the excited Matt himself. When he had almost rushed through taking care of the second horse, Danny saw Mr. Marshall and Vicki within vocal distance of the stable, and called him over. "Mr. Marshall, could you take care of the rest of these horses for me?"

"Sure. This girl here has got to practice grooming."

"Thanks very much." Without another moment's hesitation, Danny left the remaining two horses, and with a joyful yell, leaped into the circle of his friends.

"Cute boys," Vicki remarked, giggling at the quartet's antics.

"Hey, don't startle the horses," Mr. Marshall warned.

"Let's go play somewhere else," Danny suggested. "In the park. That's within walking distance, Matt."

The four ran off to the park, laughing and shouting.

"I wonder what's gotten into them today," Mr. Marshall said. "Though the three of them usually are pretty happy around each other. Don't know who that fourth kid is, though."

"I think he's got something to do with it," the girl suggested.

Mr. Marshall thought about this. "That's right. The last time I saw the boys so excited was when they first added that third kid."

"So now that they've got a fourth kid..." Vicki completed.

"Oh, man!" Matt exclaimed as he walked into his sister's house that night. Caroline and Jim, cooing over Jaymee, were seated in the living room around the Christmas tree, and so were Matt's mother, Jacob, and Betsy. "I had so much fun today you wouldn't believe!"

"I don't believe it!" Jim cried.

"You spend all day with those long-haired strangers again?" Jacob asked.

"Yeah, it was great! Do you realize the four of us are kindred spirits?"

"You ought to invite them to Trotter sometime," Mrs. Winward said.

"What's that mean?" Betsy asked. "Kindred spirits?"

"Birds of a feather. We know where we're coming from; we see things eye-to-eye--"

"You're best friends," Betsy put it simply.

Matt shrugged. "Well, I don't know about that. We just met. Although we were getting on like best friends today. We played a song together, we went horseback riding, and we played in the park. If I didn't have to leave in two weeks we certainly would become best friends; I know that."

"You better not get too attached then, Matthew," Mrs. Winward warned.

Matt sighed. "Oh, I know. But how can I help it? I've never met anyone before who didn't think I was weird."

"'Cause you're all weird," Jim joked.

"That's right! But, man, even if it's only for two weeks, it's worth it."

"Oh, you say that now," Mrs. Winward told him. "But when you get back to Trotter--"

"I'll remember what fun I had here, and just have to be grateful for it."

"Sure you will."

Matt sat down and sighed in reminiscence. "See, there's Danny--he's great. He's this British boy, he came from a small village or town. He's really friendly; I like him a lot. He seems to be the spokesman of the bunch. He's really understanding; you know, I feel like I can talk to him.

"Then there's Patrick. He's very talented musically. He's got a guitar same make as mine, as a matter of fact, and I dig playing with him. And he's so innocent; he's like a child or a fawn or something."

"A fawn?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I don't know. He's just so wide-eyed at the world still."

"How old is he?" Mrs. Winward asked.

"About as old as me, I'd say."

"And he's like that?" the mature Jacob demanded.

"Sure. It's great, man! No false airs of so-called maturity...Timmy's got that, too. And he seems so vulnerable. I really love Timmy...Love 'em all."

"It's too early to decide that, Matt," Mrs. Winward told him.

"Well, yeah, I can see why you'd say that--But they're just like me. It's like I told you; we're kindred spirits. There's an instant bond between you when you discover that."

"You shouldn't say you love boys, though," Jacob remarked. "You love girls--you love your wife. Boys you just like."

"I don't have a wife!"

"I know. I was just speaking hypothetically."

"You got a big mouth on you for a fourteen year old."

"He's precocious," Mrs. Winward explained. "All Winwards are. You have to grow up fast where we come from; I don't suppose you have to in southern California. Fun and sun and surf.."

"Don't let the travel industry fool you," Jim told her. "We also have smog and riots."

"I don't want to grow up," Matt sighed. "I've been pushed too hard already. I just want to have fun."

"Life was not made for having fun, Matt," Jacob persisted. "You know that. Dad told us."

"I never bought it, though," Matt said.

"Well, Jacob is exaggerating things, but still, you're almost grown, Matt," his mother began. "You're going to have to be deciding what you're going to do with your life."

"Yeah, I know," Matt agreed. "But right now I'm gonna have to decide what to get my new buddies for Christmas." He turned to Caroline and Jim. “There’s a celibate right on your street, and his two celibate friends that visit all the time, and you didn’t tell me!”

“Well, we didn’t now,” Caroline defended.

“Yeah, I thought they might be homosexual,” Jim remarked.

V

The day before Christmas, Mrs. Rowe was folding the laundry while nagging Timmy about his attitude. Then the doorbell rang. "Get that," she requested. Timmy answered the door to find Matt outside, guitar in hand, looking hesitant. "Hey," the Texan boy greeted.

"Oh, hello, Matt." Timmy smiled with a bittersweet expression. "C-come in." 

"How you doin'?" Matt asked, entering Timmy's room.

Timmy sighed, sitting down on his bed. "All right, I guess. My parents just recently got divorced. I suppose it’s better this way, though, I mean, all they ever did was argue."

"I've had problems with my family, too," Matt said, taking a seat on Timmy's drum stool. 

"It's okay now, I guess," Timmy told him, sitting down on his bed. "I spend a lot of time with my friends, and that's always fun. I was quite depressed for awhile there, over different things, but I think I've finally broken free of that. I was depressed for well over a year actually. Sometimes when I'm at home alone, I still get uptight, but not like I used to."

"You're not happy?" Matt asked.

"No, not at home or school. I am whenever I'm with Danny and Patrick, but as soon as they're gone, I feel miserable. I used to be cheerful all the time, and I haven't given up hope that I can be again. Sometimes I'll be in a kinda good mood for a couple of weeks--then something will happen--an argument with my mother or whatever, brings me back down. I've been pretty happy recently but I may be due for another downer."

"Well, I've gone through cases of the blues before," Matt told him. "I still get upset sometimes, 'cause no one understands me. But at least it's not an everyday thing, where I get up in the morning and say, 'The world is a terrible place.' I'm doin' all right, but I still need somebody..." He trailed off.

The room grew silent as Timmy withdrew into himself, drawing his legs up near his face and wrapping his arms around them. He stared blankly ahead.

Matt averted his eyes to different areas of the walls and floor, then found himself gazing at Timmy _. We aren't really that different at all,_ Matt thought. _It's so difficult to love, especially with people telling me boys can't love each other, even as friends. But I could love him. I could love them all, all three. I know I shouldn't get involved in this friendship, what with going back to Trotter so soon, but_ _for once in my life..._

He stood up. "Timmy..."

"What?" he replied, without turning his head.

"Timmy," Matt repeated more forcefully.

The drummer rose curiously. "Yeah, Matt?"

"I-I'm sorry, you know, that it's like this for you..."

Timmy stood before Matt, questions in his eyes. "Matt, you didn't have anything to do with it; it's my prob—ʺ He was cut off as Matt pulled him in. Timmy allowed himself to be enveloped in the embrace, bringing his arms around Matt, and burying his head on his shoulder. He was embarrassed but could not hold back the tears this had triggered off, and he didn't know whether he was crying sadly over his problems, or joyfully at the discovery of a new friend.

They heard Danny's and Patrick's voices outside the house, and the doorbell rang shortly thereafter. Matt and Timmy pulled apart. "I'm sorry for crying," Timmy apologized, feeling silly. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," Matt said, squeezing his shoulder. "We're social deviants; we don't need to be ashamed."

As he accompanied Matt to the door, an odd yet peaceful feeling came over Timmy. He felt like he had been released.

VI

Monday, December 27th, 1965

It was a bleak morning at the train station.

"I'm glad we at least got to play a few songs together and do them well before now," Matt said. Many afternoons and evenings they had practiced, Danny only occasionally drawing them away for an outing at the park, the beach, or a tourist attraction. When the band seemed to be really getting the songs down pat, even the mischievous little Englishman could not be drawn away, and began to feel that he was as much a musician as any of them. After "You're for Me", Matt had searched for another song both he and Patrick already knew, and the four had learned "Don't Even Bother". Knowing that Patrick was an almost instantaneous learner when it came to music, Matt then became braver with his selections, and picked a song he knew how to play, but Patrick hadn't learned yet. It was a number called "Bad Girl", a Rocking Chairs' track that wasn't as naughty as the title made it sound.

"Yeah, we would've made a good band," Patrick remarked. "No one's stopping you from getting on with your trio," Matt pointed out.

"I just hope we don't get lost without you," Danny fretted. "You make a good leader."

"Hey, I wish you didn't have to go," Timmy told his new friend. 

"Me neither. I've had more fun the last couple of weeks than I've ever had in my whole entire life."

"Matthew! Come on!" a motherly voice rang out.

"Well, this is it. Thanks for the ring." He held up his hand to admire the turquoise American Indian band the three had bought him for Christmas. It had three individual stones in it, one for each new friend. "See you guys later." Matt winked and disappeared into the crowd.

Matt stared at the rapidly changing scenery. He sighed, feeling a stabbing emptiness. Going on vacation would have been exciting enough, but meeting his soul mates had made it practically heaven on earth. Now it was back home--on a regular holiday, the return to the everyday routine would have seemed like returning to purgatory. Losing contact with his friends made it seem like returning to Hell.

VII

The three decided to celebrate New Year's Eve over at the Rowes' house. "Boy, you're late!" Timmy scolded Danny. "It almost took you all year to get here."

"The Marshalls wanted me to meet some people at their party," he explained. He noticed Patrick sitting on the floor, sobbing. He rushed over. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Timmy answered. "He was listening to the news on the radio again."

"Now, Patrick, we warned you not to listen to the news anymore," Danny scolded. "You know it always does this to you. Now try to stop crying. It's almost midnight. Time to celebrate!"

"Okay," Patrick mumbled. He wiped the tears from his eyes and regained his composure.

"Fellas!" Timmy shouted, jumping up. "It's 11:59." He turned up the radio. The announcer was counting down the seconds. When he reached zero, his voice was drowned out by the three teenagers' cheers as they jumped up and down like pogo sticks and embraced each other.

Finally, they stopped shouting and leaping and just happily stood around. "Why are we all so glad the year's changed?" Patrick wondered. "I mean, 1965 was a pretty good year. At least the last half of it, after we met each other."

"I'm glad it's a New Year," Timmy remarked. "I can start 1966 free from depression. Thanks to you fellas and Matt. I only wish he were here. Hey, did he leave us a phone number or address or something?"

"No, he didn't," Patrick realized. He sniffed. "We may never hear from him again."

"No, I think we will," Danny declared. "Remember at the train station? He said, 'See you guys later.' Then he winked. He'll be back someday. I'm sure of it."

Vacation ended and on January third, the three returned to Stockdale High. The first day back ended cheerfully, however, for that afternoon Patrick received a letter from Matt. "I didn't know he knew my address," he told the others when they arrived at his house that evening.

"Well, he **was** staying on the same street," Danny pointed out.

"What's the letter say?" Timmy demanded.

"It's addressed to all of us, so I didn't open it yet."

"Here, let me see that." Patrick handed the envelope to Danny, who removed the letter and read it aloud to the others. "'Dear fellas, It's good to be back home, I suppose, but I miss you all. Paw tells me I'll forget about you in a few days but I know I won't. Happy New Year. Remember, keep practicing!'"

"'Remember, keep practicing,'" Timmy repeated slowly.

"He's coming back, I'm telling ya!" Danny insisted. 

Now knowing Matt's address, the three wrote back to him. They asked him when he was coming back. "I might visit in June, when my classes get over," he replied in a letter they received on the twelfth.

"That'll be a few months," Danny protested.

"I can't wait that long!" Patrick complained. "Well, at least we'll get to see him again. I wonder how long he'll stay."

On that same day, Matt was trying to make the message of that letter obsolete. "Paw, I'm almost grown," Matt argued. "And if I need help, there's Caroline and Jim out there."

"Matt, stop being childish! Your father already agreed to let you go on a vacation there in June," Maw told him. She whispered, "Be grateful. You know how stubborn he is about these things."

Mr. Winward leaned against the kitchen doorframe, silent. Both he and his wife had believed Matt would forget these friends in a few days, but it was apparent his son's affections were intense, and that he wasn't going to drop the subject anytime soon. "He's going to turn seventeen in a couple of months. That's still a bit young, but sometimes the only way a boy learns to grow up is to become able to depend on himself instead of his parents."

"You're not saying--?" Mrs. Winward began.

"Are you, Paw?" Matt asked. It seemed too good to be true.

"Look, before you go, you got to finish a few projects around here. Do some honest labor for your reward. And remember, once you get out there, don't be taking advantage of Caroline and Jim all the time."

"Oh, I won't," Matt assured eagerly. "I won't, Paw, believe me..." Ecstatically, he rambled on until his parents snapped at him.

VIII

It was a sunny, cool day in January. Timmy and Danny were over Patrick's house. "No word from Matt in a week," Patrick muttered.

"Well, most people don't write so often as he does," Timmy suggested. "Maybe it's not so unusual."

"I miss him," Danny said. "And he's been away now longer than the time of his visit."

"Yeah, I feel like I need him," Timmy added. "He's a friend, you know, but somehow he's like, like a guardian."

"Yeah, I can see that," Patrick remarked, thinking of how Timmy was always there to guard him.

"I think he needs us," Danny told them. "He needs someone to look after him, too."

They sighed and were silent for a moment. Then Patrick asked, "Why don't we play some records or something?"

"I wish we could play 'You're for Me'," Timmy said.

"Yeah, I wish we were playing it with him here on lead," Danny agreed.

"'It's a miracle we found one another,'" Timmy sang, Patrick strumming a few chords. "'Thank God each day we won't leave each other.'" 

"He'll be back someday," Danny said. "If I read him correctly, which I think I do."

"When?" Timmy cried. "Oh, yeah, June. But only for a visit."

"I don't think so. I think he'll be back to stay. You two have a way with people like that, you know."

They put on the single of "You're for Me", and listened wistfully.

Friday, January 21st, 1966

The next day they met over at Timmy's house. "I got this kinda neat drum arrangement," the drummer told Patrick and Danny. Mrs. Rowe was in the hallway outside, pausing in carrying some laundry from one room to another. Her son pounded out his discotheque beat. His two friends applauded.

"That's neat, Timmy," Mrs. Rowe said. "But it won't get you through college." She walked on.

"College!" Timmy exclaimed. "College has got a lousy beat."

"Do you understand what Mrs. Neil was talking about in English today?" Patrick asked.

"She wasn't even talking English, man," Timmy replied.

"No, she was talking American," Danny said. "But I think I understood it. See--"

Mrs. Rowe came back. "Someone at the door to see you."

"Me?" Timmy asked.

"No, all three of you." She didn't sound sarcastic.

"All of us?"

"Hm-mmm," she said affirmatively, smiling mysteriously before she left.

"Who would be here for all of us?" Patrick wondered.

"Matthew," Danny answered, a smile creeping slowly over his face.

"I **wish**!" Timmy cried. "We better go answer it before whoever it is goes away. Danny, you really don't think--Naw, it couldn't be..."

"Could it?" Patrick wondered.

They ran to the door. " **Matt**!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Hey," he greeted quietly but happily.

For a moment or two his three buddies didn't know quite what to do. Then they nearly suffocated him with embraces and almost pulled him apart in their rushed attempt to get him inside. Matt took it all in stride, enjoying the fuss.

"Come on in," Timmy told him.

"Guess I have no choice."

"What are you doing here, man?"

"Hey, I told you guys at the train station 'see you later'."

"I knew it!" Danny claimed proudly. "Didn't I tell you blokes that's what he meant? I knew you'd be back, Matt, I just didn't know when. But I'm glad it's now."

They entered Timmy's room. "Just sit still for a minute and I'll explain everything," Matt said. "I know I told you I'd be back in June, but I just couldn't wait that long. And I didn't want it to be just a visit either. So I packed up and moved."

"You moved?" Patrick asked. "Just you?"

"Just me. I convinced my folks to let me go, and they gave me enough to rent a place to live for a month. Hopefully, I'll have a job by then."

"So you're not ever going back?" Timmy wondered. "You're staying?"

"That's right."

"You don't have to rent a place, Matt," Patrick insisted. "You can stay with me."

"Yeah, at least until you've landed a job," Danny pointed out.

"Hey, what is this talk about getting a job when we're a rock'n'roll quartet?" Timmy demanded.

Patrick and Danny looked at Matt, who nodded and smiled. "Hey, yeah, that's right," Patrick realized. "We are a rock'n'roll quartet."

"First order of business is to get a name for our fabulous foursome here," Danny announced, sitting himself down on the floor. The others jointed him. "Now, let's see, what do we all have in common?"

"Uh, we love innocence," Timmy replied.

"We're the Innocents," Patrick stated.

"Yeah," Matt said. "That's good. The Innocents." 

"The **Four** Innocents," Timmy suggested.

"That was too easy," Danny remarked. "But I can dig it. All in favor of the Four Innocents, say aye." The decision was unanimous. "Second order of business is to elect our bandleader. I nominate Matt."

"Me, too," Patrick agreed. "I mean, I second that motion."

"Me, three," Timmy added.

They looked at Matt, who shrugged. "I guess so, then."

"Motion carried," Danny confirmed. "What's your full name, Matt?"

"Matthew Damon Winward."

"Matthew Damon Winward is hereby elected as the bandleader of the Four Innocents. Therefore, I am handing over this meeting to you."

"Oh, um, thanks. Well, we need to decide when we're gonna practice, because it's gotta be regularly, and over whose house. Any suggestions?"

Danny and Patrick began throwing back days of the weeks and times of the days. Timmy was lost in thought, then suddenly perked up. "Look, Matt has enough money to rent a place to live, right?" His three bandmates stared at him expectantly. "It would all be a lot more convenient to us and our families, not to mention a lot more fun, if we all move in together."

"That's a great idea!" Danny agreed.

"I'd love to," Patrick said. "If Mom doesn't mind." 

"Total companionship," Matt thought aloud.


	9. Settling Down

CHAPTER EIGHT: SETTLING DOWN

I

When Timmy and Patrick woke up late the next morning after a sleepover at the Rowes’ house, they discovered that Danny and Matt were already dressed, and busily pouring over the classifieds and home guides. "We can't afford something really classy at this point in time," Matt decided. "Once we become a big rock band, of course, we'll be able to buy anything we want to, but for now..."

"Well, how soon do you think we can move in together?" Timmy

asked, now hesitant. "I mean, I want to as soon as possible, but none of us is working at the moment."

"Oh, we'll be working before you know it," Matt encouraged.

"My parents gave me some money to get started, and the Marshalls are giving Danny some pay for working at the stables since he won't be rooming and boarding with them no more. If we can get enough money for the first month's rent or down payment, we can move in. We should have a job by the next month. I mean, if not a job for the band, at least jobs on the side. Each of us is able to work; we don't have any dependents."

"Say," Danny began with interest. "How'd you guys like to

live right on the beach?"

"That sounds cool," Timmy replied.

"Yeah, man," Patrick agreed.

"Wow, the ocean?" Matt wondered, remembering the fun they had

had running along the shore during winter.

"Yeah!" Danny told them. "There's this beach front property,

homes for rent; they're really cheap. Right within our price

range."

"Yeah," Matt said, taking the classifieds from Danny. "Maybe we'll have jobs next month, but they still might not pay much. So we've got to underestimate our budget." He stood up to address all of his new bandmates. "Let's go down there this afternoon and check things out."

The four marched out of Timmy's bedroom to fetch lunch. Mrs. Rowe stopped Timmy and drew him aside. "What, Mom?"

"You're gonna move in with them? You're only sixteen, you know."

"Yeah, Mom, I'd really like to." He crossed his fingers.

She tried to look stern. "Ordinarily, you know I or any other mother would never allow this. But with your father in Connecticut and my boyfriend wanting to move back to Oregon, there's no point taking you up there for just a couple of years. Besides, I have a feeling you'd run away."

"Aw, Mom, I wouldn't do that."

"Well, you always were a good kid. Annoyingly moody, but

still, a good kid. That's another reason I'm letting you go. I think I can trust you to stay out of trouble, am I right? You

won't suddenly become interested in girls and drugs and stuff."

"Was I ever that interested in girls and drugs and stuff?"

"No. Well, you boys gonna need any money?"

"Matt's got some his parents gave him to get started."

Timmy's mother found her purse and rummaged through it. "I don't know how much it is they gave him, but take this in case it's not enough." She handed over a few double-digit bills.

"A hundred and ten? Aw, Mom, you really don't have to."

"Well, ordinarily, no. But it looks like I'm not going to be single long, so I won't be needing it."

"Take the ten back at least," Timmy insisted. "Round it off to an even hundred."

At lunch, Patrick suddenly sat up straight. "Jazz! I

mean, Mom. I haven't told her yet."

"Well, one way or the other, we're gonna stop by everybody's

house to pick up their things," Matt mentioned. "If they can

come."

"It's all right with my mom," Timmy announced, entering the kitchen.

"Well, that's three down, one to go," Danny remarked.

"When did you speak with the Marshalls?" Patrick asked.

"This morning, while you two blokes were still sound asleep," Danny replied. "Matt and I were up long before you."

"What about your family back at home?"

"I'll write them. But being thousands of miles away, I can't wait around for their decisions about everything. There is one

condition that the Marshalls wanted to make sure I kept. I have to finish the school year."

"Hey, but won't your sisters still think you're coming back at the end of the school year?" Timmy wondered anxiously.

"I wrote them as early as November that I was moving here

permanently."

"What they say to that?" Matt asked.

"Well, nothing, really."

"Nothing," Matt repeated thoughtfully. "That could mean

anything."

"You'll still be sixteen come June," Timmy began.

"But you and I will be seventeen," Matt pointed out.

"My sisters don't care what I do," Danny remarked. "Donna

just tells me what to do once in awhile out of a sense of duty. She probably doesn't mean half of what she says. And Debby has no rule over me." He saw that his friends looked distraught, and guessed that they were worried about him rebelling against his guardians. "Don't worry, I won't defy my God‑given authority. I just haven't gotten an answer yet."

"Well, that's good, I don't want our band to be born in sin," Matt said. "But I still hope everything works out for you staying here."

"I'll write them again," Danny told him. "But we'll only know for sure in June."

"Oh, well, I guess we'll have to wait. But speaking of our plans, Danny, why don't you accompany Patrick back to his house and help him tell Miss Keefe about our plans."

It was of Danny's opinion that Jazz doted on Patrick, and

might be possessive. He had forgotten the time he saw her leafing through a missionary brochure, however, and this played an important part in her decision. "I've been wanting to go back into the ministry," Jazz confessed. "And Patrick's such a good little angel, and I know you, Timmy, and Matt will look after him." Jazz also said they could have the Keefes' television set, and perhaps other furniture and appliances as soon as her decision to also move was final.

II

1348 Bethany Drive.

That was the house available that most caught the Four Innocents' eyes‑‑oddly enough. The white and cozy house had two stories, more than enough rooms, a balcony and a porch with ocean views, and the beach was the back yard. The greatest thing of all was its spacious den. The catch was that this little abode was run‑down, well past its prime, when its ocean location would have made it valuable property. It gave new meaning to the word ramshackle. The paint was peeling off, the balcony wood was rotting away, and the insides had been torn out, leaving an unfurnished, cobwebbed, dusty and musty interior.

"It's a handyman's special," the landlord said. Mr. Ralph Garvey was a gruff man who looked like a typical army sergeant.

"Fine, we'll take it," Matt agreed, shaking hands with him.

A young man decked out in a black leather jacket and tight jeans sauntered up. "Hey, who are these guys?"

"Well," Mr. Garvey explained. "These boys here, who are

probably just around your age, are going to move into the old two‑story beachhouse."

"Oh, at last, some boys my age!" the young man cried in mock delight. "Someone to play with!"

The Four Innocents shrugged.

The boy extended his hand to them. "Hi, my name's Ace

Leverett."

"That's my nephew," Mr. Garvey explained in dismay.

"Not his son!" Ace emphasized. "Make sure you don't call me his son. So who are you?"

"Well, collectively, we're the Four Innocents," Matt introduced. 

Ace raised his eyebrows. "What the hey?"

"We're a rock'n'roll band, and we're just starting out," Danny explained. "We're moving in communally."

"Oh, well, that's cool," Ace replied. "But the 'Four Innocents'? Couldn't you have picked something a bit more rebellious, a bit..sexier?"

The foursome shook their heads negatively.

"Oh, why not, aren't you boys into sex?"

Patrick and Timmy shook their heads again, while Matt and

Danny crossed their arms defensively. "That's not your business!" Danny warned Ace.

"Yeah!" Matt added.

"They're right, Ace," Mr. Garvey said. "As long as they pay the rent, I don't care who they don't want to screw in there. Just don't play your music too loud. And don't swim or launch a boat in the water. There's a dangerous riptide. Not to mention oil often washes up on the beach." He turned back for his house, thinking, _And as long as they pay the rent, I don’t care if they’re emancipated or not. They probably don’t even know what emancipation is._

Before following, Ace looked back at the Four Innocents. "So, you guys, really are, like, monks, then?"

"For all practical purposes," Danny shrugged.

Ace shook his head as he walked away. "Weird, man. I didn't know guys like you actually existed."

"We can't swim in the water?" Matt brought up to the other three. "No wonder this is so cheap for ocean front property. What good is it if you can't swim or sail in the sea?"

Danny shrugged. "Nice view, though. If you don't look at the house, that is. And just think what we can tell our relatives." 

"Our main problem now is moving all our junk over," Timmy

remarked, as he got in the driver's seat of his car. "This car is nice, but it will take a few trips to move all the pieces of my drum set."

"You're right," Matt agreed. "You know, if we're gonna be a rock'n'roll band, we need a vehicle that can carry all our instruments."

"I'll see if I can trade this in for something roomier," Timmy said. 

III

The next day, with their first batch of possessions in the back of a pale blue and white van, the Four Innocents pulled up at their new address. While they were moving things out of the van and into the house, two young women dropped by. "You moving in?" a nasal voiced redhead asked.

"Yeah," Patrick replied, being nearest them at that particular moment.

Danny and Timmy had come back out for more stuff, and Matt put down the box he was carrying. They went over to the two girls. "We're your neighbors then, I guess," the girl with short, red hair, said. "I'm Francene Plant."

A freckled girl with long blond hair and a model's trim figure spoke up next. "I'm Amity Boone." The boys noticed the camera hanging around her neck. "Oh, I'm a photographer."

"She's trying to break into photojournalism," Francene

explained. "I'm an artist, myself."

"Oh, really?" Danny asked. "So is Patrick."

"How groovy!" Francene exclaimed, shaking Patrick's hands

enthusiastically. Patrick blushed when she added, "Maybe we can get together sometime. Collaborate on a project." She gazed over all of the bandmates. "I like the look of you boys. Hey, Amity, they might make good photo subjects. You should ask them to pose for you sometime."

"I hardly know them," Amity said shyly, and three of the Four Innocents also thought that things were moving too fast.

"Hey, that'll be great!" Danny cried. "We should start our own family photo album, if you know what I mean," he added, directing his statement towards his bandmates. He turned back to the girls. "Besides, we're a rock'n'roll group, and we should have some photos to give out to prospective managers, club owners, and people like that."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Matt acknowledged.

“Amity and I also make our own clothes,” Francene declared proudly. “We’ll be glad to make some groovy threads for you, too!”

"Have you met E.G. yet?" Amity asked.

"Who?" Timmy wondered.

"E.G. Bland," Francene explained. "He lives next door to you. He's a spy."

"A spy?"

"Well, he works for the IIB, anyway. He once asked if I wanted to be a contact and report on the doings of my counterculture friends, but I said no way."

"Sounds dangerous anyway," Amity remarked, giggling nervously.

"Sounds kinda cool," was Danny's opinion. "How about that, fellas?”

IV

The Four Innocents had finished making the beachhouse their own. Timmy's drum set was on the "bandstand", which consisted of nothing more than a marked off corner of the den. In the den, they also had a chair torn out from someone's junk car, and an old sectional which they had rearranged to make a long four‑cushioned couch and one odd triangular shaped seat. They had decorated the walls with posters from their collective possessions, and also with Patrick's paintings. The kitchen, with the table from the Keefes' house, adjoined with the large den.

Patrick had his own studio, on the upper floor, and here it also was that the boys' bedroom was located, with little room for anything else but their four beds, plus a chest of drawers with a turntable on top. In fact, they had torn off the closet door before moving the beds in, because they realized they would not have room to open it. 

Back on the ground floor, one spare room was entitled the "music storage room", and accessories and odd instruments were placed here, including Patrick's piano, banjo, dusty violin, and trumpet. The excess of LP's and singles that each of them had accumulated were kept in this room's closet, while favorites were kept under the stereo, formally the Rowes', in the den or near the turntable in the bedroom. 

The other spare room was made into a single guest bedroom, and at other times, the Four Innocents decided that it could be used as a place where an individual member could retreat into private thoughts for awhile. A small radio was placed in it for use in such an occasion.

V

" **Our** house," Timmy remarked in awe, as he whirled around to look at the newly settled in den. "Just think about it. **Our** house. We'll never have to be apart again."

"Not for a single day," Patrick chimed in, coming to stand beside Timmy, who squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

"Aw, this band will never break up," Danny believed, waving aside the notion of being apart for even a single day.

"Which reminds me, our next order for business is to organize club rules," Matt said, from his seat at the kitchen table. In front of him, he had a few sheets of paper. "Or band rules."

"No girls allowed in our tree house!" Timmy cried out in a childish voice. He, Patrick, and Danny joined their bandleader at the table.

"Close. At least there'll be no marriage and no fooling around in the back of a car...or the van. That's why we've put up the 'No Parking Anytime' sign on the wall." He looked at the spot on the den wall where the traffic sign hung.

"Non-steady dating and chaste kissing is allowed, though, isn't it?" Danny asked.

"Well, allowing for what Timmy and Patrick have told me about you, yeah, okay. Another thing I want is for us to try to discuss things rather than argue."

"That sounds cool," Timmy remarked. "It will be a nice change of pace from the place I come from."

"Yeah, that's the whole thing," Matt said. "I hope it works."

"We should do all right," Danny reassured. "In all the months I've known one or more of you fellas, we've never had any major fights. We have an unspoken sort of understanding. I'm not sure any group of people can avoid any arguments at all for a lifetime, but I'm confident we'll know how to keep them down to a minimum."

"It'll make things really pleasant," Matt stated. "Not that we won't have problems, especially I think in the coming months as we get used to this, but we can discuss them rationally instead of hurting each other. Another thing that I'd like to see here is outward and open affection for each other. Now this isn't a thing that can be forced if you don't feel it, but it seems to me we do feel sentimentally about each other."

"Yeah," the other three agreed.

"So let's just forget everything society tells us about how we must be true to our gender or race or whatever,” Matt encouraged. "They say real men don't show sentiment. Yet they also say a real man is supposed to be brave. Well, it takes a braver man to show sentiment than it does to hold it back. After all, the guy who pretends he doesn't feel it may just be scared to death that someone will make fun of him."

"Patrick is the bravest man I know," Timmy boasted.

"We'll let down our hair, so to speak," Danny remarked, brushing back some of his hair. "I think we may be in for a few jeers from that Ace Leverett chap, though."

"Yeah, he seems to be Mr. All-American, red-blooded male himself," Timmy chimed in.

"But who cares what he thinks?" Matt insisted. "We're outsiders--freaks--as we all already know, so there's no use pretending we're Joe Average."

After that, they discussed their music, and decided to leave their style flexible for personal preferences of each member, and changes in those preferences as well.

VI

As the Four Innocents settled down in their bedroom that night, after practicing their three songs and working on a new cover version of a surf music car song, Patrick turned thoughtful. "How'd the four of us ever get together?" he wondered. "I mean, we just simply found each other, we didn't put out ads or anything, but we're such a good match."

"Destiny," Matt replied simply.

"I don't know," Timmy said. "It's like some people spend all their money on dating services and personal ads and stuff trying to find the right mate, and they don't. Then you're just walking along one day, and BOOM!"

"We probably wouldn't have found each other if we tried,"

Danny picked up.

"But it's so odd," Patrick continued. "Do you think a

supernatural force brought us together?"

"Could be," Danny agreed. "Or maybe we knew each other before we were born."

"I do know God has a hand in it," Timmy remarked. "How else could everything have fallen into place these last couple of days, what with our relatives giving us no trouble about moving in together?"

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad I found you fellas," Matt remarked.

The four friends then got their sleep, their dreams from now on intertwined.


End file.
